Willie Tennis, My Babooc, and Me
There was a small ball round and yellow,
who sat on a shelf for many days,
he never had fun,
those days gone and long done,
how he misses all the joys of child’s play.
He wasn’t of Volley or Soccer,
didn’t come from Korea or Venice,
with his family name,
he was good at one game,
for his ancestors all came from Tennis.
One Sunday my Babooc came over,
my grandpa’s Italian nickname,
he saw I was glum,
because I had no one,
to run with, or sing, or have games.
He said he had magic to show me,
that part of the time we’d pretend,
with a knife and a sigh,
and a twinkling eye,
and a pen he created a friend.
He said, “Now, come see Willie Tennis,
a magical guy who is dandy,”
when Babooc’s around,
Willie Tennis is found,
and he’ll open his mouth and give candy.
Now Willie was one happy fellow,
he found 2 someone’s who would care,
My Babooc and me,
and Willie makes 3,
have a happy new memory to share.