The little boy <br />that I revert to, <br />on all my birthdays <br />looked out <br />in vain <br />for one small sign <br />from her who would <br />not ever <br />let me go. <br />The boy had learned, <br />of course <br />from life <br />and souls alike <br />that talk is not <br />just cheap <br />but can be used <br />as ready currency <br />to catch a fly. <br />Or on occasion <br />a little boy. <br />All boys, <br />when young <br />are wholly owned <br />romantics, <br />who need <br />not only milk <br />but, often, <br />a dose of <br />sweet Manuka Honey. <br />I praise the Gods <br />who in their wise <br />and fair-play grace <br />created many <br />bees, <br />and gave them <br />faculties <br />to make <br />those hugs <br />of sweetness <br />last.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hugs-of-sweetness/
