A poem about a baby, building…and a bit more…
Rainbow baby blocks:
Bright wooden bricks.
Scattered carelessly
On the thick carpet.
Cluttered, directionless:
Buildings in a ghost town.
Patterned, abstractly:
Junior art.
Happy stacking,
Brick up, bricks top
Higher, higher-
Poking the cream-painted sky.
A reconstruction
Of the leaning tower of Pisa.
Leftovers lie abandoned;
Worship at its foot.
The fat finger stretches, reaches for the distant ceiling,
And the last block wonders
On its miniature achievement.
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