Sometimes I like to curl up in a ball

A mother is a lot like the little wombat

Sometimes I like to curl up in a ball

So no one can see me, because I’m so small

Sometimes I like to jump as high as I can

Spreading my wings to soar above the sand

Sometimes I like to scream ever so loud

Trying to escape this madness and praying to be found

Sometimes I seem to just walk round and round

I cannot move forward, my soul firmly planted in the ground

Sometimes I wish I could stand as still as a tree

Without anyone climbing, crying, flailing on me

Sometimes I know I should just hold my tongue

And appreciate the support that I get from the one that I love

Sometimes I let things get into a real mess

Not knowing what to do, burying my head in my chest

Sometimes I wish I could run ever so fast

Away from the pressure, the worry, the daunting task

But when the day ends and the sun starts to fall

Then I remember why I do it at all

I look into his eyes, so full for one so small

And I cuddle him close to my heart

As we curl up in a ball

**As I read Sacha’s favourite book for the umpteenth time tonight, I found myself rewriting it in my head. This is what came of it.

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