The tiny boy with the bright blue eyes
Looked up and said to me
Can I live here a long, long time?
Three months, if you’d agree.
Three months? I said, to the blue eyed boy
That isn’t long you see,
For an eight year old to have a mom…
A dad…a family.
He looked out the window at the dog outside,
The yard, the tire swing tree,
He thought a moment, looked up and said,
How bout till I turn thirteen?
Such low hopes, I thought, of the blue eyed boy,
to want so little from me
Just a mom who cared, a roof and food
Until he turned thirteen.
I looked down at the innocent boy
Who knew not what a family could be
And wondered about the life he’d had…
That he wanted so little from me
Not a special toy or money or games
Did he ask for in his plea
He just wanted a place to live for a while,
To stay for a month or three.
What must have happened to this small boy
What horrors did befall?
To want for nothing, save for grace
Just three months, that is all.
Nothing else did he desire,
Just someone to call him son;
He is a survivor, my blue eyed boy,
My overcoming one.
