The boy was young and growing, With his family close who'd often boast. The mother who loved him was always knowing, What he wanted or needed most. Oftentimes he sketched his drawings, Beautiful artwork about the future. In silence with his work he found it calming, Gentle as his strokes could nurture. The little boy could only dream, Coupled with a night time moon. Painting his life away is aging just too soon. 🏕️