Lochlin's Light

In a buzz-brightened block near the rush of the street,

Lived Lochlin, a boy with a rhythm so sweet.

With eyes like twin lanterns, alert and so wide,

He noticed the things most others let slide.

A shimmer on puddles, a blink from a pane,

A pattern in footsteps that danced like the rain.

He’d say, “Look at that! How the cloud shapes the air!”

While others passed by, he paused just to stare.

He chased down his dreams like a leaf on the breeze,

With grit in his chest and a will that won’t freeze.

If something got hard, he would triple his try,

With a crackle of daring that painted the sky.

In class or at play, he would bounce through the day,

A flash of pure motion, all laughter and sway.

His chuckles rang out like a festival drum,

And each time he moved, the dull world grew numb.

He’d nudge with a grin and a sparkle in view,

A question off-center, a jester’s debut.

With a smirk and a chuckle, he’d stir up delight—

The kind of wild charm that could brighten the night.

He felt when the quiet was heavy with ache,

And offered his hand like a dawn on a lake.

He’d kneel by the hurt with a glance soft and wide,

And leave them a laugh they could carry inside.

But what made him glow, more than clever or quick,

Was the joy that he shared—warm, steady, and thick.

He made others rise, feel daring and right,

And hearts full of hope, like our Lochlin’s light.

By Greg McNeilly