No more mujik No more koin

A short poem dedicated to my two-year old grandson whom I visited about ten days ago, fondly recalling a little make-believe game of flying a plane, that he played with me in the bedroom.

The little boy has an endearing way of mispronouncing words. Music becomes mujik. Coins becomes koin. And aeroplane becomes, quite correctly, airplane. At the end of each short flight, he would invariably utter the same words:

Nomore mujik, nomore koin
Go down
Bye-bye airplane.

The imaginary plane that he commanded
Had finished its flight for the day.
He got out of the craft that had just landed,
Waving his upturned palms he'd say:

Nomore mujik, nomore koin
Go down
Bye-bye airplane

He hopped a little hop on the bouncy mattress

And got down on to the floor

But hardly had he taken any rest,

When he would return for more

Nomore mujik, nomore koin
Go down
Bye-bye airplane

A step onto the mattress he'd take

To climb into his plane

And "whooo" a whirring sound he'd make 

As his flight took off again

Nomore mujik, nomore koin
Go down
Bye-bye airplane

And off and on the plane he'd get

Over and over again

Until tiredness and boredom beset

He'd fly his fantasy plane.

Nomore mujik, nomore koin
Go down
Bye-bye airplane