My July Baby Boy

Whose eyes like bulbs shine ever so bright
Has learned to weave lines of joy
To illuminate the lines of poetry, with no fright.

My journey with joyous lines was begun at fourteen
With poetry and prose; drama my first choice
Beating me to it, he’d left my works lean.
At just TEN, his pen’s already making ‘noise’ –

Of delightful words carefully woven
Into singable lines, rhyming
Like David’s Psalms that have been proven
To calm hearts, those that are pining.

Boy, write more than one word
Nobody would say at TEN it’s absurd
To outdo the lady who birthed you.
This is your talent, your gift and you’re due.

To hold and not throw this gift away, son.
But to love it with discipline
And tend it till it’s mastery you’ve won.
Then you and I, through its gate will walk in.

Copyright © Ndidi Ugo-Nkwoala | Spilledwoords | 2020

 Ndidi Ugo-Nkwoala, teaches creative writing, a regular contributor and an editor at Spilledwords; she writes about her son's efforts at appreciating and writing his first lines of poetry. He was born this July ten years ago.

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