The disciplined boy

The boy with the baby hair,

Never in any order.

Cluttered under a disciplined umbrella.

The umbrella of imaginary disciplines.

Not a thin skin with boundaries;

No bumps formed with the strings or like parachute;

Nor any pointed edges.

It’s a splash like white clouds;

At times the dark clouds;

Disorder was the order;

His baby head the cloud of chaos;

Being the cloud, never worried about the rains.

The child in you is the rain and sunshine;

Lightning and thunder;

No wonder; at times the breeze.

The breeze for all generations.