The tiny hands grip my heart,
For such a pure innocent start,
The fresh, clean smell all newly born,
The tiny clothes this baby’s worn,
Held within my giant palm,
So trusting eyes and an infant charm,
The smile that lights up all your room,
The eyes that make you play her tune,
Tiny socks and delicate gloves,
The Grandad baby talk she loves,
Park walks showing off this bundle of joy,
Blowing raspberries and bubbles all coy,
Rocked and singing her to sleep,
Then around the house we tip toe and creep,
The mobiles above her tiny cot,
She kicks off the blanket when she’s hot,
Spoon feeding games and tickled feet,
Changing her becomes a freedom treat,
Kicks and a spouting little wee,
As she chuckles, saying, ‘Grandad, I’m free’,
The smell of a baby so innocent and clean,
So much of the world, yet she hasn’t seen,
This is a Grandads pride and joy,
With so much more to come, oh boy!,
But for now silence ensues,
As she’s asleep, having a little snooze,
Laying here still upon my chest,
Finally, Grandad gets five minutes rest,
.
Copyright@Tracy Willis
