He wakes up chipper, full of spunk,

Plops down hard from his own bunk.

Runs and jumps and jabbers on

Even though it’s only dawn.

Gobbles down some breakfast then,

He’s up and going once again.

Never stopping, go…go…go,

That’s just how kids are you know.

Spies the kids and runs outside,

Also wants his bike to ride.

Pedaling round the neighborhood,

Here’s hoping rules are understood.

Morning hours just slip away.

While my young son creates with clay.

Afternoons are also full,

His waking hours are never dull.

Discoveries made hour by hour

From bumble bees to an April shower.

Trees are big and balloons can fly

And his best friend has a cool black eye.

A plate of cookies calm him down

Just as nap time rolls around.

Follow the leader on big wheels and trikes,

Exploring the park and nature hikes.

Supper is over and bath time is here.

He splashes water most everywhere.

He yawns and stretches. Signs now clear.

His bedtime is almost here.

Each stair step is quite a chore.

He isn’t chipper anymore.

No talk, no fuss, no tears, no fight,

His bed looks good to him tonight.

He’s tucked beneath the blankets now,

Snuggled down to rest,

Renewing energy and strength,

 I am truly blessed.

Written for my Son, Curt when he was 3.

Pam Grossnickle December 6, 1977