A Boy by the Window

A poem written off the cuff inspired by something seen today.


A boy stands by the window,
watching the other children playing.
Why is he standing there so still and straight?
What has he done, or is he thinking to make him stand so still and straight?

Perhaps he is thinking of times gone by,
of his home or of that awful lie,
perhaps he is thinking of a cunning plan,
but working out just how he can,

perhaps he has hurt someone or something,
perhaps he's been told not to sing,
perhaps he is sad and moody,
perhaps his mother is feeling broody (and thus he's jealous),

perhaps he has lost a friend,
perhaps he's gone round the bend,
perhaps he wants to cry out loud,
or stand there quiet, quite unproud,

perhaps he needs something to do,
perhaps he's left out of the crew,
perhaps he is munching a sweet,
perhaps that's where him and her meet,


perhaps he is just wondering,
what that boy in the corner is doing,
why is he sitting all curled up
Crying like a little whipped pup?