My Muddy Buddy

Love doesn’t wait for a golden parade,

It blooms in the cracks that the sunlight has made.

It hums in the hush of a hand on your knee, And flies on the breeze of a child saying, “See?”

It lives in a dandelion plucked from the ground, In petals held proudly, without needing sound.

It laughs in a puddle, it naps in the grass, It dances in moments too quick to let pass.

He’s my muddy buddy, my bestie, my guide, With dirt on his fingers and stars in his stride.

Together we wander through puddles and play, Where love doesn’t lecture—it lives in the day.

It’s there in the crumbs on his breakfast plate, In fingers that fumble but never show hate.

It’s woven in jump ropes, in sidewalk chalk skies, In boo-boos kissed better and wide open eyes.

Love isn’t waiting for perfect or grand,

It’s small, and it’s stubborn, and so close at hand.

It’s sticky and silly, and sometimes it spills, But always it softens, and always it stills.

So gather the dandelions, muddy and wild, Say “thank you” and “yes” to the gift of your child.

For love doesn’t shout, it simply enjoys

It lives in the quiet. It lives in the joys.