My Grandson Is A Poem

My Grandson is a poem

Being written by many

Hearts, hands and heads

That are shaping his own,

By word, by line, by stanza

As he develops the skills

That he has in abundance

At the tips of those fingers

That grasp, claw, caress and cling

To literally everything

Within his oyster shell of a world.

My Grandson is a poem

Expressing his emotions

In a powerfully vivid style

That sometimes make his editors

Anxious about its publication.

But the structure of rhythm

They daily provide

Allow him to flourish

With a flourish

Leaving everyone enraptured.

My Grandson is a poem

His smiles dimpled similes

Similar in form but different

Like apples and oranges yet

Like peas in a pod

All sharing the joy and wonder

Of being alive,

Of being a being:

As cute as a button;

As happy as a clam;

As sweet as agave;

As innocent as a lamb

All conveying the truth

That youth

Is an elixir for old age.

My Grandson is a poem

His every word a metaphor

Implicitly implying impish delight

In every sound, smell and sight.

His speech peals of mellifluous music

Flowing with the nascent perspicuity

Of a proper English lilt.

My Grandson is a poem

His sentences sonnets Shakespeare would love

Little songs of ponderous, fancy flights

That start in his eyes, then rise up, above,

Dancing in the sky like hundreds of kites.

Containing the very stuff of matter,

They adorn his life throughout night and day.

I can hear the pitter of his patter

Though I’m over four thousand miles away.

He is as funny as he is profound

Full of boisterously boyish laughter,

Yet lurking within this fury of sound

Is the music of the life hereafter.

If true that the man lives within the child,

May his joyful love never be defiled.

My Grandson is a poem

Being written by many…..


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