Chocolate droplets
stream in melting
rivulets down
his little arm
already the color
of earth from a
long day of play

He tries to catch
the quickly melting
ice cream from
the slightly crumbled
cone on which it sits

Not a care has he
not with his
chocolate treasure
in hand

I watch him
in wonder
remembering
a time
long since passed
when an ice cream
cone could make the
difference between
a good day and a bad

He runs off to play
with sticky
little hands

It was a good day

Crystal R. Cook