Little Tony liked his Granmama, who smiled
A lot and made him little treats, and his
Grandaddy, who didn’t say much and looked
Like Dada. He liked their log cabin house, but
It didn’t look like his house back in South Jersey.
Mama said, “Well, Sweetie,” giving him a kiss
On his quizzical upturned face, “not everyone
Can build a nice wood house with a bathroom
Like your daddy did.” She kissed him again.

Little Tony also liked the feel and smells and
Sounds of summer in the Indiana woods.
He liked the way the sunlight broke through the trees
And made warm golden-brown spots on the
Moist dark earth. He liked to listen to the winds
Up in the trees, and feel them blow gently
Down below against his face. He liked the
Sounds of the birds, singing to each other with
Their little songs early in the morning, each one’s
Song a little different from the others. Sometimes
He’d go to the edge of the woods and look in, but
He never went any further. (Mama had said,
“Don’t go past the old log with moss on it unless
Grandaddy is with you.”) He stood at the edge and
Watched, and listened, and smelled. Sometimes he sat
On the old log and looked at the green mosses
On the old log and the mosses on the ground and the
Grey patches on the sticks, at the insects crawling
Around on everything. He watched the squirrels
Running and leaping, the birds and the butterflies,
And the flickering light through the trees. He sat
Very quietly. In time the squirrels, the birds, and
The butterflies came very near and became his friends.

Little Tony was really little, kind of a skinny little kid,
“All skin and bones and kinda short,” as they say.
A girl down the street back in South Jersey said,
“Little Tony, if you’d turn sideways and
Stick out your tongue, you’d look like a zipper!”
Everyone laughed. Little Tony laughed too.
Little Tony was nice. Everyone liked Little Tony.