It was inside that type of lazy summers day
somewhere between late August and noon,
the first time that I saw him standing there
with mild mischief smeared across his face
and a gleeful grin that broke so suddenly
stray as a sunbeam falling from the canopy.
He was staring most intently down from that tree
I doubted he even noticed me, go stumbling below.
Until I heard him shout “catch this one please”
down it tumbled shining reddish gold, smooth
to touch, I felt the curves of Scallywag as it formed.
“Whatever are you doing up there?” I called
Intrigued to find this face among the branches
“So you don’t you know?” he exclaimed in disbelief
“why scrumping for the finest words of course”
*a very non-birthday poem*