Hey my little peanut,
hey my buttercup,
all these things I call you
I just make them up.
Endearments from my heart
come through words I use.
I hope they're not embarrasing.
They're just my little clues
that I give to you to keep
as you're growing much too fast.
These precious days I spend with you
make me wish they'd last.
A grandma feels the closeness
that makes her feel alive.
All too soon these days will go
and then we will arrive
where both of us are older
and still to me you'll be
my peanut and my buttercup
alive in my memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem