He lays his head upon my chest;
He knows he needs to have a rest.
I stroke his head; his eyelids close
And he’s off on a little doze.
A tiny mite; not yet a year,
With painful mouth and painful ear,
He snuggles tightly in my arms,
Quietly, feeling safe and calm.
Not like he was yesterday
When he was full of fun and play
Until a virus laid him low,
With teething pains that come and go.
So as his Grandpa I sit still
And know that even though he’s ill,
Because I have him on my lap
He’ll grow into a healthy chap.