Poem, for when you are blue
A few years ago, when pseudonymous kid was maybe two, I had to go on a trip for work. His papa took him to the art museum while I was gone, and it started to rain as they were walking home. Pseudonymous kid came up with this extemporaneous poem, which Mr. B. memorized for me, and which I too have never forgotten.
Mama is gone.
I miss Mama.
I love Mama.
The rain comes on my hat.
The rain comes on my hat.
Mama is gone.
I miss Mama.
I love Mama.
The rain comes on my hat.
The rain comes on my hat.
