“The night Max wore his wolf suit…” – a line we spoke aloud
Though the book was still unopened, my wild things would expound
Our was full of wild things – both human and stuffed toys
His authorship delighted me and tickled my young boys
We traveled over weeks and days and in and out of years
We gnarled and thrashed and showed our claws while conquering our fears
We marched “In The Night Kitchen” or pretended that we did
Carrying empty paper towel rolls instead of rolling pins
We memorized his stories, we kissed lots of little bears
A night without a Sendak story was altogether rare
I loved Maurice Sendak and delight in him today
And though he’s gone, in many ways he’ll never go away
Waiting for the Karma Truck 