standing proud and tall,
old yet modern,
the wooden beams creak in the wind.
A little boy sat under the sun head,
no longer wanting to stay in bed,
with his eye looking up,
in his hands,
a small cup.
He had snuck out you see?
To wonder at sky above,
not sparing a glance to the town below.
Under the roof he perched,
for a way out he searched.