The Little Boy

Once a little boy went to school. But the teacher said,

He was quite a little boy. “Wait! And I will show you how.”
And it was quite a big school. And she showed everyone how to make
But when the little boy One deep dish.
Found that he could go to his room “There,” said the teacher.
By walking right in from the door outside, “Now you may begin.”
He was happy. The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish
And the school did not seem Then he looked at his own.
Quite so big any more. He liked his dishes better than the teacher’s
One morning, But he did not say this,
When the little boy had been in school a while, He just rolled his clay into a big ball again,
The teacher said: And made a dish like the teacher’s.
“Today we are going to make a picture.” It was a deep dish.
“Good!” thought the little boy. And pretty soon
He liked to make pictures. The little boy learned to wait
He could make all kinds: And to watch,
Lions and tigers, And to make things just like the teacher.
Chickens and cows, And pretty soon
Trains and boats – He didn’t make things of his own anymore.
And he took out his box of crayons Then it happened
And began to draw. That the little boy and his family
But the teacher said: Moved to another house,
“Wait! It is not time to begin!” In another city,
And she waited until everyone looked ready. And the little boy
“Now,” said the teacher, Had to go to another school.
“We are going to make flowers.” This school was even bigger
“Good!” thought the little boy, Than the other one,
He liked to make flowers, And there was no door from the outside
And he began to make beautiful ones Into his room.
With his pink and orange and blue crayons. He had to go up some big steps,
But the teacher said, And walk down a long hall
“Wait! And I will show you how.” To get to his room.
And she drew a flower on the blackboard. And the very first day
It was red, with a green stem. He was there, the teacher said,
“There,” said the teacher. “Today we are going to make a picture.”
“Now you may begin.” “Good!” thought the little boy,
The little boy looked at the teacher’s flower. And he waited for the teacher
Then he looked at his own flower, To tell him what to do
He liked his flower better than the teacher’s. But the teacher didn’t say anything.
But he did not say this, She just walked around the room.
He just turned his paper over When she came to the little boy,
And made a flower like the teacher’s. She said, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”
It was red, with a green stem. “Yes,” said the little boy.
On another day, “What are we going to make?”
When the little boy had opened “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.
The door from the outside all by himself, “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.
The teacher said, “Why, any way you like,” said the teacher.
“Today we are going to make something with clay.” “And any color?” asked the little boy.
“Good!” thought the boy. “Any color,” said the teacher,
He liked clay. “If everyone made the same picture,
He could make all kinds of things with clay: And used the same colors,
Snakes and snowmen, How would I know who made what,
Elephants and mice, “And which was which?”
Cars and trucks – “I don’t know,” said the little boy.
And he began to pull and pinch And he began to draw a flower.
His ball of clay. It was red, with a green stem.