A Four Year Old's Work

The wind blowing on my uncovered legs
and the hood hanging and pulling on my head,
my son sits to my right drawing our home.
He draws so peacefully, using every color but red.
He feels a bit of a breeze chilling his skin
so he goes to get his jacket like his daddy.
He asks questions so as to make his drawing
perfect in ways that would make me praise him proudly.
He pushes his little hands down on the paper.
He won't allow his art to be taken by the wind.
He switches colors time and time again
until finally he pulls the winner out of the tin.

He is onto drawing the bedrooms within his home
where he feels the safety and warmth so many crave.
His peaceful, satisfied, wide-eyed demeanor
sets him apart from those he'll later meet, so led astray.

He moves on from artwork piece number one.
He emerges from the house with a clean, white sheet.
Wasting no time that he doesn't have,
he allows his light red marker and paper to meet.
The marker, much like a magic guide, begins to direct
as his movements begin to come together to take shape.
Though others may see a four-year old's work of nonsense,
I see the scene he describes no less vividly than if I saw the very landscape.

The imagination sinister men and skeptics alike may mock
works for the boy who shows us all what we could be.
The lesson he teaches his dad is invaluable:
as long as you can interpret your own picture, it won't take others to make you happy.