Silly childhood game: Uncle Wiggly,
I cower in abject horror, approaching space number 109, home of the gaunt and haggard shell of the Skeezix.
The emaciated figure harbouring the greed of a thousand invading, thriving Ascaris whittles away the self-confidence of young minds,
Casting doubt that they will ever reach the finish, to see for themselves the sagacious Uncle Wiggly.
His mission now is complete,
The arboreal king of misery and woe,
Skeezix reposes high on a knotty forest crag,
And the child still tries his best to stay into the game,
But with insufficient, no volition, plotted course of demolition,
Goes through all the motions, musing "caveat emptor" and a predetermined failure.
He draws a card and all his fears come true,
"Advance to 109" - that's what you have to do.
When Mr. Skeezix becomes Mr. Jones, or you, or me, just think of what that does to wreck a child of two or three,
They know and feel much more than we will give them credit for,
And all they want in life from you is love, and nothing more,
When painful eyes begin to cringe, when you walk through the door, remember children are a gift of love sent from the Lord.
