A Young Boy Poem by Randy McClave

When I was a young boy I was mean
My mom said that I was an awful wrecking machine,
I broke windows and I also started fires
And of course, that was just added unto my priors,
As a young boy I always tugged at my mom's skirt
With my hand full of mischief and my face covered with dirt,
She was my mother and I of course was her forgivable son
What she saw as bad and impish, I saw as excitement and fun, .
When I got older I then began to pull at my mom's heart
Never did she tell me to leave her, or to depart,
She raised me and taught me the best that any parent could
She was the force and the strength in my childhood,
Because of her I grew straight and truthful into a man
With of course help from God, it is where it all began,
I still remember her shouting and her constant prayer
Sometimes she even begged God, why wasn't he there,
But, then if mom never received any help from the Lord
She most certainly always did, with a pine board.

Randy L. McClave