He sat aloft - that little lad
Upon the shoulders of his dad
Seeing his world from way up there
The gentle breeze ruffling his hair

How right and proper when small legs tire
To be carried by one’s sire
Strong hands clasp his ankles tight
He know the throne is his by right

The little chap enjoys the ride
And rhythm of his father’s stride
Who strolls along at ample pace
The youngster clutching at his face

Nowadays, now he is older
With children of his own to shoulder
He looks back and he is glad
He was shouldered by his dad