A box is the ultimate game
Once you're in it's never the same
With a flick of a thought, ever so slightly.
A rustic house turns into a castle, quite nicely.
Suddenly you're moving all about,
The box is now a mount, very stout.
Perhaps it's a train on a track…
But, Alas! The track has run-out.
Once closed the box can be a very good safe,
If you need to hide this is the place.
But if not it can always be a plain,
It can even take on passengers without any strain.
But I've only a little box you say?
"A match-box isn't fun for play?"
Well that's where you're wrong, dear sprite
Because a match-box is just exactly right
To hold a seed, perhaps grow and feed
A cricket, lady-bug, or a spider breed
But only if mother allows, otherwise
You can house a ghost of any size.
If you are lucky you just might find
Many boxes all around, of every kind
Real, imaginary, tiny or tall
"Is that one, over there?" there's nothing there at all…
Whit! What about that magic box?
Once turned on it's sneakier than a fox.
When we view it the sun falls out from the sky
Play time has come and gone, how and why?
Still, there is another more important box
One which can't be lost like errant socks
For, it is attached to the shoulders of the likes of you and me
And by the night lights, all about, you can see
In each mind, like a magic box in your head,
There are stories and games to entertain you in bed.
Perhaps, in your head there are dancing bears.
Did they come from the picnic downstairs?
Or maybe you prefer having gnomes fix shoes under your bed?
I once had a polar bear on which to rest my head.
Whatever you want just might appear,
When the moon is high, and no one is near.
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