|The Joy of Finding a Mud Puddle|
There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million. ~Walt Streightiff
While we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about.
I thought it would be nice to give children a poem today, especially since I predominantly write for children.
I feel safe in saying this poem is based on the childhoods of every adult, (male or female), all across the country.
I think everyone can remember the joy in finding a fresh mud puddle ... and the battle we lost to our self-control.
Oh, and if you would please read it out loud in your best four-year old voice ...
Muddlesby CJ Heck
Splashing-sploshing the mud in puddles
I will call what I made "muddles".
Run and jump, my feet go splishy.
Bare toes feel good, squashy-squishy.
Uh oh, muddles frickled my new pants!
I wiped it worse 'cause it’s on my hands!
Dripsy-drops are EVERY place!
It’s in my hair! It’s on my face!
It’s on my shirt, and there, and THERE!
Muddles got me everywhere!
Muddles bubbles in my smell.
Is it in BOTH holes? I just can’t tell,
and every twirl I go, it goes!
Ewww, here comes Mommy with the hose.
Mommy said just LOOK at me!
I can’t cause muddles are in my see,
but there's no muddles in my ears
and Mommy’s yells fill up my hears!
Now dripples are raining down, oh well,
it’s raining muddles off my smell.
My poor muddles ... now they’re moosh.
I slippered and sat right in the goosh.
The hose rains muddles off my thumb,
it's raining muddles from on my bum,
now there’s NOwhere muddles stayed
cause dripples made it go away.
I can’t play now, not here OR there
cause I’m in a corner on a chair
and Mommy’s washing ALL my clothes.
She said, "Why mud? I’ll never know."
Would I still have so many troubles
if I called it something else, not muddles?
(from the book, "Me Too! Preschool Poetry", by CJ Heck)
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"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck