No doubt there weren’t bounds to the toys
That as a not-so-small four-year-old boy
Could own at his home, in a dream-like world
As the real one spun, whirled and it twirled.

‘To imagine’ was the gift I was given
A fashionable passion without need for permission
From remote controlled cars with wings that were driven
To action men on a mission, I’d quickly envision.

Although that young boy’s toys were imaginary
Regardless it was harmless and magic to me
My favourite toy could change colour and shape
So, I couldn’t go wrong - I couldn’t make a mistake!

Cylindrical silver; chrome-coloured cones;
The captives of mansions held at ransom in droves
In exchange for a toy that was fun and quite handsome
That morphed purely for joy from thoughts wild and random.