The Toy

Like playing with a toy;
Till the thing has no more juice,
No more possibility for games,
It dances in the child’s hands-
A thing of wonder
No mere piece of metal or plastic this –
It’s magic.
Till all permutations are gone,
Then to the attic for it,
Whilst new toys play out new scenes

In a growing, changing mind
With horizons further out of reach,
The old toy lies there unmoving,
Till cobwebs and dust make it magic once again
Full of the mysteries of a bygone age,
And then at last
The toy can play again.


8 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. kshawnedgar
    Sep 06, 2011 @ 23:43:00

    That’s so true.


  2. The Gooseberry Garden
    Sep 19, 2011 @ 03:47:00

    some facts stated, well done…


    What charming poetry you have posted here.

    Invite you to share 1 to 3 poems with us, anything could fit the theme of object,

    Hope to see you in.

    Happy Writing..


  3. Mr.memo
    Sep 23, 2011 @ 02:10:57

    good points, i wrote almost the same (a poem from toys)
    similar minds


  4. Mr.memo
    Sep 23, 2011 @ 23:41:44

    “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.”
    ― Pablo Picasso


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