A hundred times did his mother try
Stop him from playing in the mud
A hundred times did he cry
Why stop him? Let the builder bud.
He built castles in the sand
And tiny huts of wood
A garage and a car stand
Where his toy truck stood.
A rope bridge did he build atop
A small puddle of winter rain
His toys would cross it non-stop
So could the ants of the nearby drain.
The castles have drowned and the garage crashed
The bridge broke and his toys are gone
But the crave to build ever remained unabashed
And when he grew up, the architect was born.
Author’s Note: A natural instinct of building is what some kids are born with. The author gets nostalgic remembering his childhood when he used to build tiny wooden huts and garages for his toy car. He even gets into the detail of building rope bridges over the puddles during rain. Eventually he grows up with the building instinct to become an architect.