It's About Thyme

by Justin Thyme

Perplexed when mother called me to the door

and looked with scowl and doubt at my small hands,

then asked if I had washed them, or once more,

had failed to use the soap and rinse the sands.

When I looked at her and saw her glaring eyes,

then back out to the sandbox where toys sank,

I quickly, in my little mind summ'ized,

that if my hands weren't washed, then I'd get spanked.

My dinner had been ready for some Thyme.

And Mama had already called me in.

And yet I stayed and played as though sublime,

and that's when I remember my first sin.

I lied, Yes Mama, I have washed my hands.

She looked and smiled and I felt I had hope.

I was so happy she did understand,

and scurried to the sink to find some soap.

The kitchen had a smell of apple pie

and Mama, she was standing at the sink.

And so I ran right upstairs to keep the lie

and passing by her, she gave me a wink.

So dinner had avoided reprimands

'til Mama gave my Papa a high sign,

and Papa asked if I had washed my hands.

I nodded, then he shouted, "It's 'bout Thyme!"