At 3AM he got off his bed,
put on his tiny slippers and sneaked out to bait,
bait motorcycles and cars on the streets with a long rope held by tiny hands in each end.
He walked down the empty foggy road,
dark alleys with a hint of fear of the street dogs,
jumped off the wall, that was his little adventure.
Reached a house in the middle of an open field,
whispered dalle through the closest window,
to a friend still deep asleep, dreaming about tomorrow.
When all else failed,
the his tiny feet guided him home,
as he sneaked back to bed, he glanced at the clock,
realizing how his excitement just had him mocked.
What happened next?
I never asked,
but I wished I'd met him when both of us had tiny little feet and big adventures to walk.