He’s just two-years old,

And one-quarter me;

A pleasure to hold,

And a joy to see.

 

Sleeping peacefully,

His head in my lap;

I’m very happy,

He’s taking a nap.

 

His face is still smudged,

A smile lingers there;

He’s cute as a bug,

With that soft red hair.

 

Awake he’s playful,

And awfully busy;

He’s such a handful,

He makes one dizzy.

 

He makes us all run,

But he’s mine, you see;

The son of my son—

My posterity.

 

Someday he’ll grow big,

While I’m growing old;

It won’t be a jig,

‘Fore he’s too much to hold.

 

It’ll be kinda sad

To lose the small boy;

But I won’t feel bad,

For he’ll bring added joy.

 

He’ll soon be my equal,

And on the same plane;

He’ll be my sequel,

And also my gain.

 

‘Cause he’ll have children

Just as cute as he;

As this fam’ly wends

Through eternity.

 

—James E. Kerns 29 June 2005