My Grandson

I wrote this poem after playing in the snow with my grandson.

My Grandson.

He can get me to do things that adults never could,
this little blonde bombshell with the cute smile,
and toys made of wood.
He wraps me round his little finger because I can't say no,
I could melt in his big blue eyes, how fast I watch him
grow.
I frighten him with spiders,
turn paper into gliders.
We throw snowballs at the moon,
he will insist on eating it as he digs into it with a spoon.
Fingers blue his little nose is red,
now is the time to take him to his bed.
Up the wooden hill he climbs, while blowing on his hand,
he is concerned that because of the snow in the morning
the birds can't land.
" Tell me a story granddad before I go to sleep",
Twenty seconds later his eyes are shut, not a peep.
Tomorrow we will do it all again,
I wonder what he makes of the world, in his uncorrupted brain.

Sleep well little man, God bless.