The Art of Being Three

 

I like being me and I like being three

Not two, not four, just me being me

I really like dirt and any dirt will do

Dirt on me dirt on them and even dirt on you

I like Popsicle sticks and Popsicle’s too

Purple on grapes and blueberries blue.

I eat with my fingers and drum with my spoon

And dream of the cow that jumps over the moon

Why is the way my sentence begins

“Do monkeys eat donuts, do mermaids have fins?’

“Why must I nap?  I’m really too old!”

“Why do you say, “Do as you’re told.”

“Why can’t I run out into the street?

Haven’t you noticed I’m wearing two feet?

“Do dragons breathe fire, do skunks really smell?

“If you haven’t held one, how can you tell?”

I don’t want a bath; I don’t want to get out.

I’m just being three; this is what I’m about

I cry and I laugh, I whine and I pout

I paint on the floor and color the grout

I live in a world I can’t always reach

So show me the way it’s your job to teach

Answer my questions, hear what I say

Help me to cope with what comes my way

I’ll only be three for a little while more

LOOK OUT WORLD SOON I’LL BE FOUR!

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