Buttons The Bear

the end of child's play

Little table, little chair beneath window light

glittering pattern twirl and drift as a butterfly passes by.

Buttons the bear sits and waits for tea to begin

But the land of play she will not create,

As she gazes at baby’s breathe and rose's red

And those new senses his soul cannot bare.

Reviews

[CLUTZ]

Everyone grows up, and when that happens the innocent part of us that thought we'd never grow tired of that special friend gets locked away. It makes me wonder if we're not the only ones who lose apart of ourselves. Very moving poem, it's always hard to let go.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Sounds like a father have a hard time seeing his daughter grow up. Nicely written.

[Ed Hart]

magical