He was a sweet child

He was a sweet child

Caught raindrops

On his tongue

Counting, one by one

Twirled his coat

Around his head

Delighting in the spray

Of rainbows

Oil on water

A cheeky smile

Would clear his path

A sunbeam

In a snowstorm

Happy to play with charcoal

On paper

As the world grew

In substance

He grew with it

Laughing in all the right places

Delighting in talk

Bending his shape

To fit around

Confined spaces

Disappearing

Into the background

Facilitating change

And personal growth

With barely a ripple

Of recognition

Invisible to all

But those who knew him

He was a sweet child

Who grew to be a man

Of many parts

Loosely constructed

To adapt,

A cat’s cradle

Which when drawn together

Into a whole

Became a man

Still counting raindrops.