by Ruth Cheeseman

Created on: September 18, 2009   Last Updated: April 23, 2011

JOEY

I have a treasure that's bound up in curls
That loves to hug cats and that hates all the girls
That cries in an instant and laughs in a crack
And has rips in his jeans from the front to the back.

I have a treasure that loves to read books
That loves all the Muppets; pretends that he cooks
That pulls the dogs fur and drags the cat by the tail
Then gives big doe-like eyes to turn your heart frail.

I have a son who does bring me good cheer
Whose whispered "I love you's" I hold very dear
Whose tears I have wiped away many a time
With stories I've told him and poems that rhyme.

He loves to draw pictures and write ABC's
And Band-Aids he wants on his bruised or cut knees
Or else he needs cuddles or snuggles at night
Or some tender comfort when he's had a fright.

There'll soon come a day when I will be old
And with withered hands, my son's children I'll hold
I will patiently tell them the stories of "Dad"
And all of the mem'ries of him that I had.

And, oh, they will laugh at their father with curls
Who loved to hug cats and who hated the girls
Who cried in an instant and laughed with great joy
For they'll know the man and I'll treasure the boy.

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