In an open cage of potted freedom

four square face to the wall

they play out their games, Dad and the little ones

mastering a ball.

It flies wherever it may mastering gravity

in its own iimitable way.

Little limbs like sticks of hope adversarial

trying not to fall.

tiny scarecrow tops red and white

betray their allegiance.

Around the square, bedraggled shrubs

bow their drying heads, an audience

that stays and witnesses the combat

in their very different ways.

Dad is King, he rallies his troops

small servants in the greater game

of future tribulation on the football pitch of life.

For now though go kick and sweat you minor lords

little ones 'til gravity is mastered with the present game.