My Friend, Jack

My Friend Jack

Quick as a kitten that jumps from a sack,
he runs like the north wind, my old friend, Jack.
Don't ask me to tell you now where he might go
It's a big secret, nobody must know.

He sleeps under my bed, sings to the moon.
We eat strawberries with cream in a spoon.
He tells me some stories, never does lie
unlike some big folks who just make me cry.

He hears every time how scared I have been
when monsters are crawling, making a din.
He doesn't yell chicken!; he doesn't swear
He never acts crude; he really does care.

He's my best friend and ever has been.
Why, I can't remember not knowing him.
Daddy says "stupid, he's not even real."
He can't tell me that; I know how I feel.

"He'll leave you some day when you turn your back,"
says Mother when told about my friend Jack.
"He's just a plaything, not real, just a toy,
not smart or good looking like you my boy."

I stop up my ears, cover eyes and nose.
I will not listen to bad tales like those.
If he ever leaves me, where would I be?
Alone with no friends - no Jack, just me.