Little hands that reach to touch you.
Little hands that hold you tight.
Little head upon the pillow.
As he lays sleeping every night.
Little eye's that look for knowlege.
And a smile that lights the room.
Playing with his little cars .
As he pushes they go zoom.
He grows an inch a month now.
But he isn't very tall.
We keep track of all the inches.
With a mark upon the wall.
He walks with me beside him.
His steps are really slow.
Compared to mine their tiny.
In the dust the prints they show.
At two years old a genius.
For the child is really smart.
No prejudice will you find here.
From grandmas loving heart.
© Copyright 2016 The elder poet. All rights reserved.
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