Amidst the balled paper and mountainous haul, hold tightly the permanent gift of imagination.

Fwozen Gwapes

One June morning, at a quarter to eight,
Owen sprung from bed, not a moment late.
He zipped up the shutters; the weather was fine,
And splashing his face, thought: “The day is mine!”

Down the long banister he slid at speed,
When his tummy grumbled; what did he need?
Breakfast, of course, to fuel a lovely day;
A boy must eat if he’s expected to play!

Into the kitchen he charged like a bull,
With hopes of a feast—a buffet in full.
But there on the counter, for goodness’ sakes,
Quivered, quite massively, a plate of grapes!

“Chop! Chop!” said his mother, giving a pat,
“We are off in ten, and that is quite that!”
Owen objected: “How ‘bout jam and toast?”
“No time” replied mother: “grapes at the most!”

Mother told Owen of the day ahead:
Shopping for new dresses, flowers and bread,
At three sharp, tea with Lady Munikins;
“Then home,” said she, “and dinner begins.”

“Ick’ said Owen; then “ugh” and “hum-drum!”
“I’ve lost my day to errands and boredom!
Dresses... flowers... bread and tea...” He mumbled,
Worse, it occurred, his tummy still grumbled!

Owen eyeballed the grapes on the platter
Popped one in his mouth, chomping it flatter.
It was warm and squishy, quite unpleasant,
Before one more decided he daren’t.

But mother was circling, ready to leave;
He must be swift, giving fruit the old heave.
The trash wouldn’t do; neither the window.
“Finish your grapes,” said Mother, “we must go!”

Solemnly considering his pants,
Owen spied his moment, his only chance.
Mother, quite clumsily, dropped the house keys:
The ice box! He thought, time for a freeze!

Grapes in hand he darted, quick as a shot,
Opening the freezer, he made the drop.
Mother, keys recovered, said “What was that?”
So Owen replied: “Must have been the cat.”

Mother marched to the car, none the wiser,
And Owen followed two steps behind her.
They motored along, an hour for sure,
And though hungry and bored, Owen endured.

The dress shop was packed, from floor to ceiling,
And suddenly Owen had a feeling:
It was a jungle, in need of exploring.
An hour on, it wasn’t so boring.

The drive to the florist took forever,
But once through the door, Owen felt clever.
Now he was a scientist far from home,
And these rare plants he’d discovered alone.

“Back to the car once again” Mother said
And Owen followed, with familiar dread.
The little bakery would be worst of all
I need a plan thought Owen, I must stall

Before he knew it they had joined in line,
Where the cakes shone like jewels lost in time.
And who discovered this dark hidden lair?
Owen, the gem-hunter extraordinaire!

Tea with Lady Munikins, what a bore!
Then Owen saw what he was there for.
A big Alsatian with manners quite ceased:
Good thing Owen was a trainer of beasts!

“Ick’ said Owen; then “ugh” and “hum-drum.”
“I’ve lost my day to errands and boredom!
Dresses... flowers... bread and tea...” He mumbled,
Worse, it occurred, his tummy still grumbled!

Finally Mother turned into their lane,
“Hooray!” Said Owen, “it’s time for my games!”
But Mother replied: “No sir, not so fast!”
“I need your help: Dinner is at half past!”

From the car to the house Owen hauled,
When Mother loudly from the kitchen called:
“Watch my flowers, be careful with the bread,
See the dresses lay flat, do mind your head.”

Next Owen helped Mother stir and saute,
The table, he knew, he still must lay.
Mother declared: “We need ice for pudding!
Owen! Chop! Chop! No time for slow-footing!”

To the freezer for ice Owen now raced,
But instead of cubes were grapes that he faced!
Frosted over and all powdery white,
Bravely, boldly, Owen took his first bite.

It was cold and crispy, and strangely sweet,
No doubt about it, a magical treat.
A trainer? Scientist? Born to explore?
Now it was clear: Owen the inventor!

A jingle of keys, meant Papa returned,
And Owen ran to reveal what he’d learned.
“Hello Owen--anything to report?
What’s the good word? Go on, tell me old sport...”

But the grapes made speaking a tricky task.
Papa raised a brow and thought he might ask:
“What are you cramming in by the dozen?”
“Gwapes, Papa, dewectable when fwozen!”