A head of fuzzy hair With a Mohawk, And a long Dennis-the-Menace cowlick. Silky, satiny, velvety skin. The most amazing, almond-shaped eyes That look at me with utter innocence. Pudgy little arms that fly up In an arc, when disturbed. The chubby cheeks of one who has Only food custom-made for him, By his mother..and Mother Nature. Dimples everywhere… On his knuckles, his cheeks, his chin, His knees, his toes…and his hips. Fatly little legs, and strong thighs That kick strongly. A rosebud mouth, a toothless smile. A round “O” of anger and a demand For instant attention. Little dumpling turnovers, Rolling along the floor. Drool, and often spitups, All over his round face. Happy cooing, like a pigeon. High-pitched whistling that seems To go beyond human hearing. Pees too often, poops Not often enough. This, then, is the bundle That my grandson is. Oh…I forgot to mention: Wrapped around his tiny little finger Is my heart, and those of his family. Can someone who cannot speak, Cannot walk…be so vitally important When we lived without him for many years? Yes…he can…and he is.