Play with my fingers,
Touch my beards,
Clap your hands and smile,
Your toothless mouth looks like mine,
Soon you will have thirty two in those gums,
By then you will be a man.
Sit on my laps,
Touch my palms,
Sing with your dad,
Before you became a lad,
Make mama smile,
Isn't she beautiful in that night gown?
Soon you will have your own wife,
She will give you a son,
I hope you will name him after your dad.
Look at those small eyes,
They are white and bright,
They give me a reason to fight,
They tell you are something else,
You are not a mistake,
You are an ice cream on the cake,
My hope ahead.
Suck your little thumbs,
Lift your little legs up,
Rub them as you speak gibberish,
A language only you understands,
Mumble on till you are bored,
Then take my hands,
Play with them for a while,
Suck my finger then cry,
Mama is back from shower with more love,
She has to feed you with her love,
Flowing from her lovely lumps,
As you close your eyes,
Good night son,
Rest your mind,
As I give you my hand,
Tomorrow they will guide you to your dream life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks for this lovely poem, Clifford. You have succinctly portrayed the life when you get a small baby of your own in the home. Thanks.