Baby

He plays with sounds
but does not talk,
he lifts his head
but does not walk,
he looks at me
with wide, gray eyes
and formulates
particular cries
to say he's hungry
or in distress,
so feed me
or clean up my mess,
slowly, together we drift
to recognition,
communication
coming to fruition,
life's great adventure
awaits you, little man,
so, make the most of it,
the best you can,
I love you in my own
grandfatherly way
and hope your life will be
a sunny, happy stay,
my little, indirect seed
will grow into a sturdy man
and all my life I'll be
your pal and your fan,
you may one day the president,
an artist or a singer be
or possibly a poet,
purging his soul,
someone like me,
or maybe just a plain and
ordinary, simple, happy joe,
I wish you all the very best
wherever you may choose to go...

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2009 Alfred Charasz