A wee bit of dirt and a devilish grin,
Curious eyes and spaghetti sauce chin.
A dollop of mud behind his right ear,
And a handful of worms in his pocket I fear.
You see his knees through the holes in his jeans,
He likes ice cream but won't eat his beans.
He's made of mudpies and bubble gum kisses
And wonder at Christmas and birthday wishes.
And a heap of giggles and wiggles and love;
These are the things little boys are made of.
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