Inner child press Stories

Flowers bloom, the Winter thaw, Outside the songbirds sing. With the arrival of the bluebirds, I know that it is Spring. But listening to the bird’s songs, And watching the flowers bloom. I can’t but help myself, For feeling a certain gloom. For I find myself a bit jealous, As the flowers start anew, So often I wish I could do the same, If I just knew what to do. 02-22-16.

Two young brothers are left at home, All by their lonesome selves, The older one notices a new toy, Sitting high up on a shelf. He climbs up and brings on down, What he believes is a toy gun, He thinks about the games they’ll play, Boy this sure will be fun. He aims the ‘toy’ at his little brother, And shoots him in the head, But that gun was not a toy at all, And soon the three-year-old is dead. When a child dies, All th...