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Image may contain: 2 people, including Keith Kenel
He’s underfoot, not in the way
I glory in our time to play.
Not quite two years, just twenty months,
lovey-dovey, sweet honey-bunch.

With arms stretched high he lifts me up;
melancholy? Not one dollop!
I bend at waist and hoist him high,
reward’s giggles from little guy.

We play toy cars, do coloring,
I improvise some songs to sing.
He does not grown at my bad puns;
no other love like for grandson.

Each moments fresh, no holding back,
he’s perfect foil, my grandson Jack.
He does not brood or hesitate
that boy’s all in, emancipate.

He sets us free from care and woe
his beaming smile infects us so.
Birds in the sky, toads on the ground
life is chock-full of things profound.

At end of day enjoys his bath
but teeth brushing he’d like to pass.
We do insist to flow of tears,
but sometimes love’s a thing severe.

There is no grudge in loving heart
sits on my lap as reading starts.
His mom and dad have trained him well
he’s mesmerized by author’s spell.

Today Ducklings, but soon monos
Curious George and sombrero.
There’s Goodnight Moon and Soup With Rice
both find book-time is extra nice.

I hold him till he falls asleep
and pray the Lord grandson to keep
within His arms and keep him safe
and let him know he’s loved first-rate.

He’s underfoot, not in the way
I glory in our time to play.
Not quite two years, just twenty months,
lovey-dovey, sweet honey-bunch.