Puddle Stomping

On my power walk this morning,
When my mind was in a muddle,
I was suddenly confronted
By a toddler in a puddle.

Now, the puddle was humongous -
It was like a little lake;
And this little boy was stomping,
Leaving ripples in his wake.

Though at first I thought him barefoot,
He had sandals on his feet
And his face displayed the hugest grin
You’re ever bound to meet.

Standing near him with his stroller,
Looking both amused and calm,
Was his parent waiting patiently –
Of course, it wasn’t mom.

For it surely takes a father
To not care if he got wet.
Neither cold nor dirt nor water
Would be thought of as a threat.

Yes, a father’s meant for frolic,
Not a part of the routine;
And cavorting in a puddle’s
Much more fun than keeping clean.

Yet I wish that I’d been witness
(I’d have gotten satisfaction)
To that father’s shock when he got home
And saw his wife’s reaction.