They think the birds follow me;
(I allow them to think it so)
My grandbabies, in awe,
At the bay window
They think flowers bloom in my wake;
(I allow them to think it so)
As they follow close behind,
The rows of seed I sow
They think I’m a playmate;
(Indeed, this is so)
As my aging heart sings,
Youth’s love laced solo:
(Without them time would drag
Into, the winters of life,
And heart songs would cease;
Devoured by stress and strife),
But what they think this I know…
Grand babies are gifts, the heavens bestow,
Just ask “the Mamal’s” who wear a glow!
© O’Prunty
Poet's Corner 