Growing Up

His hair is soft like a tiny snowflake floating in the moonlit night.

It glistens and dances as if made of pixie dust.

I don’t want him to grow up, but he must.

His laughter is like a tickle that immerses you in delight.

It bubbles in his tummy and rumbles through his bust.

I don’t want him to grow up, but he must.

His heart is pure, kind and strong like a Lion prepared for the Good Fight.

His shield will not be pierced and his sword will never rust.

I don’t want him to grow up, but he must.

His imagination soars through the highest silky clouds like a brilliant intricate kite.

His songs are effortlessly woven with beauty, grace and abounding lust.

I don’t want him to grow up, but he must.

He sleeps like a precious gentle angel, his puppy warm and snuggled up to the right.

My heart wants to always keep him here, but with my son, in God I trust.

I can let him grow up, for I know to be a great man he must.