Under soft eyelids he rules worlds
which someday his pudgy hand may paint,
this same little hand wrapped incompletely around mine.
His warm cheek's pressure may be a life of compassion
tempered by the self-willed line of his mouth.
The squatting waddle that allows him to track
our backyard pumpkin nose-to-vine
whispers science's curiosity with each denim swoosh.
Always well-rounded, my Osh-Kosh boy builds forts and caves
with only the most luxurious throw pillows available.
Some day he'll outgrow my lap
and his world will streach past the corner park.
Someday he'll be brilliant, compassionate, admired;
for now he's perfect in sleep.
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`GeneratingHype thinks I have a problem with being nice.
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`GeneratingHype thinks I have a problem with being nice.
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Main account here: [link]
And pimping my non-DA writing journal: [link]
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Main account here: [link]
And pimping my non-DA writing journal: [link]
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Main account here: [link]
And pimping my non-DA writing journal: [link]
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"You come near me and I'll stab you with this!" she shouted.
"It's a teddy bear," said the Count. "I'm afraid it wouldn't work, even if you sharpened it."
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