Ben

He sticks out his chin,

Arms folded tight,

And turns his head away,

With all of his might.

If you ask him to stay,

He will invariably go,

If you want him to walk faster,

He’ll start to go slow.

He’s as stubborn as a mule,

The most opinionated of men;

He’s my wonderful three-year old,

My dear, sweet son Ben.

When he’s somehow gets hurt,

And you want to hold him,

He runs away, with a ‘hump’,

And sticks out his chin.

At bedtime he wails,

Like he was going to be killed,

And if you give him a cup,

Expect it to be spilled.

He hides when you want him,

And hides your things, too;

But just ask him to find them,

And he’ll smile and show you.

Still, he’s sweet as an angel,

And cute as can be;

He’ll give you open-mouthed kisses,

 And his hugs are always free.

He loves to play robot,

By standing on your feet,

And loves to be tickled,

As he wriggles and screams.

Too soon, he’ll be four,

And then five, and then six,

And daddy’s time with his boy,

Will disappear in time’s mist.

So right now, I’ll be glad

To take the good with the bad,

To enjoy every moment,

The happy; the sad.

When he’s gone, I will miss him,

My precious time will end,

But I’ll still have fond memories

Of my ornery, stubborn, and completely wonderful Ben.