You look as happy as a millionaire,
with streaks of choc'late through your cute blonde hair.
You show no troubles as we drive away -
we're always back again another day.
This great big playground makes a happy home,
a place for little boys to freely roam;
here we can put aside the painful past,
and yet I wait to hear your words at last:
they say 'autistic'; but I say 'my son',
the one I think of when the day is done.
So when my life seems like a hopeless case,
I long to take you to your favourite place.
You stare intently, and your thoughts are heard;
you say 'I love you', but you have no words.