My little grandson reads aloud of Noah and the ark,
His murmur like a nightingale before the night grows dark,
The low voice of a tiny child, engaged and quite content
As lulling as the sea shore where the breaking waves are spent.

There’s a voice assumed by children when they cause their toys to speak,
They convert the dull quotidian with fantasy’s mystique,
Remembered phrases animate a rabbit or a bear
A triceratops eats sandwiches while perching on a chair..

I take a soporific pill to finish off my day
But I find it more hypnotic to observe a child at play,
While worldly sounds and motions exponentially increase
A child’s imagination is the vital heart of peace,

I feel my eyes grow heavy though I shall not let them close
So light my supervision, I need not interpose;
I speak no words, my hands are still, they do not reach or clasp,
The music of the spheres endures when worlds slip from our grasp.

October 2014