Last week, some of our good friends were able to adopt a little baby girl. It has been a long wait and we are so happy for them. I told the kids that they should make some cards for this family. Ammon wrote a poem. (I tried telling him that he wouldn't find a word to rhyme with adoption and change, but I was wrong.)
A new baby sister! This is great!
Your big brother is the age of eight.
If they make a lot more adoptions
Maybe they'll start running out of options.
If they'll adopt more babies or not
Or put all the babies in a pot.
Maybe the babies will start to cry.
Why do they cry? I don't know why.
Maybe the babies need a diaper change.
This will make it hard to rearrange.
Maybe they want to suck on a binky.
If they need a diaper change, they'll be really stinky.
Now this poem will finally end.
This poem is written by your friend.
And then my sister Brynn was at our house the other day. She had nine little puppies with her. She was trying to give away the puppies. Ammon came in from playing and said, "Mom, listen to this:"
Are you feeling lonely? It's your lucky day!
Come, get a puppy. You don't have to pay.
Rhyming is fun.
3 comments:
He's inherited a good combination of Rawlins and Woods genes! And are you sure that last poem wasn't an attempt to get a puppy? :-)
His poems make about as much sense as dad's do. :) Love it.
What a great poem. He did wonderful!
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