Bullseyes and targets, marbles and darts.
Little green bugs and bicycle parts.
Frogs in their pockets, worms in their shirt.
A boy is a boy for all he is worth.
Cowboys and Indians, Gene Autry boots.
Guns in their holsters that are sure to shoot.
Big mud puddles, rocks in their shoes,
A chip on their shoulder, a black eye or two.
Little red wagon, scraped up chins,
Scuffed up pants, and old tin cans.
A laugh, a holler, a tear, a shout.
Into mischief but truly a scout.
Old clubhouses, flying a kite,
Up a tree, a fall on the bike.
Skinned up knees, bruises, and cuts.
A boy is a boy when his dukes are up
© Jac Judy A. Campbell