The Secret Mitty Of Walter Life

The Secret Mitty Of Walter Life

He was born on the thirteenth,
Yes a Friday in May,
And his mother just knew,
What else could she say.

He had to be wicked,
A child of pain,
A boy of great awful,
Who fit his strange name.

There was also his Dad,
Who’d tricked his dear wife,
For not David Dean Baker,
He was David Dean Life.

What hope for a boy,
With a family so bad,
His awful assured,
This Life would be sad.

But what Life you may ask,
Who they you might say,
Well a Life is the reason,
For your every wrong day.

They’re ages of ageless,
A magic of lore,
These wizards of witchcraft,
Cast mischief galore.

They sit up above,
And do it for fun,
Its pleasure you see,
Hurting father and son.

For a Life lingers long,
Way past normal span,
And they think very little,
Of quite mortal man.

So they cast up their spell,
Once called only pity,
But that wasn’t that funny,
So they changed it to Mitty.

A nonsensical thing,
Just a trick of the light,
Not pity or mean,
Only Mitty was right.

Normal man was the joke,
Dying father and son,
So a trick on such things,
Must be silly and fun.

See the great Maggie Lee,
A Life thought as fair,
No big to her Mitty,
She just messed with hair.

She found it delightful,
Locks burned and then broken,
Such centuries of fun,
When her Mitty was spoken.

On days needing perfect,
All combed and all smiles,
She was whispers of windswept,
Hair tangled for miles.

A simple small Life,
Our great Maggie Lee,
Her mischief was tiny,
Not much else to see.

But then there was David,
Dean Life and not Baker,
The worst kind of Life,
His was a love taker.

His Mitty was whispers,
During sunny and love,
A charm of dark cancer,
Crashing down from above.

He lived for the heartache,
The hilarity of pain,
And what hope for our Walter,
Who carried his name.

For that was the son,
Newest member of Life,
The Walter of David,
Who’d tricked his dear wife.

But just to be honest,
And fair in this shame,
He was Walter Well Life
That was his full name.

And Walter had magic,
From the thirteenth of May,
On the day of his birth,
There was so much to say.

He could walk next to you,
Or to her, him, or me,
And be the love taker,
Or more Maggie Lee.

It was all up to him,
From that precious day one,
Would he be David Dean,
Or a much different son?

But he just had to joke,
For he was only Life,
Yet remember his name,
It was from that poor wife.

The one who’d been tricked,
And saw only pain,
She just had to try it,
To change this boys name.

Forget what she’d seen,
Such a awful old song,
If she named Walter Well,
Would that change his wrong?

And he had to be Walter,
After that of course Life,
But still she spoke on,
Last gift as a wife.

After that a divorce,
From cruel David Dean,
And then she abandoned,
So quickly and mean,

But our Walter continued,
Never stumbled or fell,
Over Mitty or mother,
Or being that Well.

Till the day David Dean,
Came up to his son,
Said its long past the thirteenth,
So much to be done.

It’s time for a choice,
Either me or Mrs. Lee,
Take your magic and Mitty,
Cast something to see.

With that David pointed,
Right down to a child,
A blond little girl,
So cute and quite mild.

There was candy in hand,
And a skip at her feet,
The day was her smile,
True wonder to meet.

And Walter was ready,
With a whisper to see,
But most never noticed,
Not you, her, or me.

Would he windswept the blond,
As he passed unseen,
Or would he scar deeper,
Be more David Dean.

But oh as he moved,
Walter did have a fell,
And thought only this,
Why be Walter Well?

Because of his mother,
Not missed for a bit,
Yet near to that blond,
He still had a fit.

He couldn’t stop thinking,
His Mitty right there,
Why mess with this child,
Why bother her hair?

He was Life after all,
What else could he do,
Yet maybe his mother,
Had named him quite true.

Maybe that Well,
Could be his real Mitty,
A secretive joke,
Of purpose not pity.

He’d still cause a stumble,
Or joke with that hair,
Yet also bring joy,
True happy and fair.

So Walter did whisper,
And blond lost her candy,
She stumbled so sudden,
Over Edgar James Handy.

It was something to see,
Kids eight and young nine,
A memory forever,
On a day oh so fine.

Oh sure little blond,
Had mischief so wrong,
She stumbled and fell,
But it led to this song.

A melody of love,
Between her and James Handy,
From that day forever,
Who cared about candy.

And dear David Dean,
And the rest of Life too,
Saw only the joke,
Missed something quite true.

A poor and tricked wife,
Had done something rare,
Mere mortal she was,
She’d named a true fair.

Our sweet little Walter,
Still spoke out his Mitty,
But took all that Well,
And used some real pity.

He wouldn’t just work,
His magic and charm,
For only the joke,
Such mean and great harm.

No he’d bring the pain,
But turn it to joy,
So one stumble girl,
Could meet a nice boy.

He’s the Life you can trust,
In the darkest of hell,
That this pain means something,
That this Life is Well.