He won't raise his hand in greeting
nor will wave you all goodbye,
never put his arms around you
turn his head to catch your eye.
There's no running feet on hearing
when your key turns in the door
more the squealing of his tyres
as he wheels across the floor.
All the things you think are precious
from a little boy just seven
are redeemed upon his glowing face
from a smile that's made in heaven.

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