At the end of the hall under the stair
The toy box—silent—near the old rocking chair.
The children tucked in, kissed goodnight,
Stories read, off with the light.
Sshh! What’s that faint stirring out there
At the end of the hall, near the old rocking chair?
Something magical, all’s not what it seems,
Toys Alive? - perhaps it’s a dream!
Sshh! The witching hour, clocks chime,
Toys come out for play time!
All through the night, so much fun,
Then, once more quiet with the rising sun!
by Shirlene Britstra
AN ODE TO MOM FROM HER SON
My Toy, It Broke
Plastic it was, now cracked up the middle
Wires came loose, now one needs to fiddle
Anger then sad, ready to be junked
Oh please won't you work, I'm in such a funk.
That was long ago and I have missed you ever so,
My children are all grown, and I've accumulated some dough.
I really want that toy, 'cause I really want to play,
Here I sit waiting at the door, for I found it on ebay.
Hail to Marx
Oh those toys of yesteryear
and the memories we hold dear
They swift us back to those carefree days
when life was not a stressful maze
So hail to Marx and all the rest
for those times that were the best
This poem was contributed by one of the little boys in this picture and his wife. Thanks guys!
It's not my place to run the train.
The whistle I can't blow.
It's not my place to say how far
the train's allowed to go.
It's not my place to shoot off
steam nor even clang the bell.
BUT let the darn thing jump
the track....AND SEE WHO STARTS TO YELL
by: Ray "the trainman" Groters
wind me up and let me go
I'll wiggly, I'll walk, I'll tumble and roll
I'm colorful and drab
I'm big and small
turn me loose I'm fun for all
For old folks and young ones, I bring many a smile
so don't throw me out on that old junk pile
love me and play with me day after day
and I'll bring you joy that you can't repay
A TOY A BOY OH JOY OH JOY !
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