Dirt on jeans and mud between toes
And scrapes now patched with blackened scabs
Are souveniers of time well spent.
Toothy grins and smudged cheeks
And hair sticking up in all directions
Are simply life for these rowdy little boys.
Rolling eyes and constant shushing
Don’t mean much and won’t douse
The mischeivious glint in their eyes.
They’re too busy having fun–
Too busy making the memories that will
Fill their hearts in years to come.
One day–sooner than they know–they’ll be men.
But now, they just have scabs and mud,
Mischief and untidy hair.
And thank God for that.
Copyright Sarah Davidson 2021