Lost Boy--ABCB Poem--National Poetry Month

This is a poem I wrote about one of my favorite subjects: Scouting. I think parents often blow the idea of Scouting off as an unimportant way to corral their wild son or keep him busy, or it's just what one does with boys that age. This is my take:

Lost Boys

I glanced up the street near our rickety home

One brilliantly sunny day

There sat a boy so very alone

Forgotten and not asked to play

He taunted and teased and trouble was his

He stole and the neighbors all swore

That that boy would eventually land in jail

Where he couldn't tag houses anymore.

While around me my cub scouts were playing a game

They hollered and kidded and learned

For they were a brotherhood forged in fun

And trouble they consciously spurned.

The lost little boy, neglected and sad

Ragged and tattered and brown

Stood at the fence and watched the cubs play

On his face a dejected frown

"Want to come in?" I asked on a whim

And the little boy's eyes opened wide

"What? You really want me? You're talking to me?"

At my nod he was happy to bide.

"Are you sure about this?" my assistant asked

As she watched the young boy muscle in.

"It's the best thing I've thought of in many a day"

I said with serendipitous grin.

From that day on, the lost boy became found

With hardly a terrible swear

He came by himself, for his folks wouldn't come

And he still had no uniform wear.

I saw a marked change in that lost little boy

That made me feel peaceful inside

For what he was learning should always stay near

And his smile he could barely hide.

He played all the games and earned all his ranks

A reflection of me in his eyes  

And I knew we'd been lucky to harbor this boy

From the mean streets, impossibly wise.

But the months labored on and I was released

And another one took up the call

And because of their hatred of that little boy

They lost him; he ne'er came at all. 

Instead of triumph, I looked back at that boy

As reminder what could happen if

The leaders of boys have no heart for the job

It can build an unbreakable rift.

Don't let the work of building a man 

Get lost in the day-to-day grind

Of planning, and working, and taking the time

To fill up the little boy's mind

For someday you'll see what a man he's become

He'll look down and meet your eye

And hopefully there you'll see honor and care

And a glimpse of the mountain so high.

I still look for the boy; that lost little boy

Who stood at the fence on that day

And I wish I could meet him with open arms

And say all the things I should say.

© 2017 by H. Linn Murphy