I wrote this for my son. Please, critical critique is wanted.

One hop, two hop, three hop, four, little Harry Bopalop was hopping out the door.

He hopped past the flowers and he hopped past the vine,

Little Harry Bopalop was hopping oh so fine.

Harry was well known to almost never postpone

his leaping and bouncing and hopping alone.

He began each day the way he ended the last,

by hopping and hopping, he never ever thought of stopping.

Some might think this strange, to hop and hop and hop,

thought little Harry Bopalop as he bounced right by the pizza shop.

Some might think this odd, to hop along all day

worried little Harry Bopalop as he hopped along his way.

Amid a leap by the springing black sheep,

Harry mused his future holding back a sad, sad weep.

Forcing a smile, he continued to hop, waving to the cop

who was flagging cars by while drinking soda pop.

Hopping was his hobby; he loved it oh so much.

But others found him snobby for acting out of touch.

But, many, many years ago Harry’s mother said to him,

as she looked deeply in his eyes sporting an over-sized grin:

Harry, do what makes you happy, if it’s hopping then so what!

It’s no affair if the whole world thinks you’re a big old silly hickory nut!

And that’s just what Harry does, as the world is all abuzz,

with comments and spears, and laughs and sneers. “Keep hopping Harry”,

they yell, trying to break his thick, protective shell.

But Harry hears the words his mother said with love

Knowing those are special words, the only he makes use of.