Cotton candy cheeks, thumb in the mouth
Hands flailing in the air;
His parents hum him sweet dulcet songs
And nurture him with care.
At 1 his small steps teeter and totter
As he walks with boastful might.
And who would’ve thought that at age 7
He’d ride his very first bike!
At 10 he gives her his fav’rite blue crayons
While they sit beneath a tree.
And in 16 years, under the same silky blossoms,
“I do,” they would both say with glee.
“That was my son,” he brags at 35,
“Riding my bike down the path!”
And they both race down the cobblestone road
Just like his sacred past.
Oh, that was 35 years ago, but now he’s 70,
And he hobbles on one wobbly cane.
His boastful might from age 1 has vanished;
To replace that now is pain.
Dewdrops drip from the emerald leaves,
Lightning roars from above.
His son hums him sweet dulcet songs
And nurtures him with love.