To Begin

         I wish to creep across the floor.
There's so much to touch and feel.
My butt's in the air, wiggling.
Let's go burn rubber and squeal.
A baby with energy to burn,
up on all fours, I stall.
With my straight arms flexed and knees bent,
I'm in position to crawl.
Should I, could I, should I, could I,
should I start to crawl?
Should I, could I, should I, could I,
should I start to crawl?


I'm a picture of concentration
as I size up the room.
What might my speed possibly be,
a steady snail's pace or zoom?
I espy a destination point,
a nearby sturdy wall.
My muscles warm from rocking nudge,
but still hesitate to crawl.
Shall not, cannot, shall not,
cannot, not yet start to crawl.
Shall not, cannot, shall not,
cannot, not yet start to crawl.


This urge to move, get up and go
proves difficult to quell.
Wanderlust has a hold on me,
primal, stubborn spell.
I wish to cross the house vast,
meander down the hall,
conquer fear of the wide unknown.
To do so I must crawl.
Should I, could I, should I,
could I, could I start to crawl?
Should I, could I, should I,
could I, could I start to crawl?

         

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