The Boy was fed up, tied to his home,
It had been four weeks, with only a phone.
He had a plan, he knew would work;
Hugh his brother, thought him a burk.
The Boy wanted to fly like Icarus.
But not fly too close to the sun to kill himself.
He yearned to fly, like the birds on high
And to the town, say goodbye.
He had collected feathers from their chickens,
The wax from candles, from the cupboard in the kitchen.
He’d lain the candles in the sun, to make them soft
Assembling the wings, in the loft.
Pleased with his work, he laughed aloud,
He thought he could fly, above the grey clouds.
On his first trial, into the sky,
He knew he’d fly high.
His mother found out, about his plan.
So tied cord to the contraption, and her hand.
Sprinting to the window, he hurled himself out.
The ground came to greet him, he gave a shout.
The cord held, he was left in the air, dangling about.
His mother saved The Boy that day.
Now he accepts, in the house, he must stay.
Lockdown won’t, last forever and a day
So he plays with his brother, and inside stays.