An ode on growing up

Your babble is as mellifluous as an impatient stream.

Your anklets jingle in merriment and earrings dazzle bright,

curly hair in its tiny knots and rings, waves as you scream

to obliterate all busyness from the pressing present.

When you spot an insect on a window pane,

your eyes light up and small steps quicken,

seldom does your excitement wane

until the poor thing takes flight panic stricken.

Peek-a-boo and hide-a-seek, you love to play,

stories of the moon and the stars, you yearn

to hear, fears and worries, you keep at bay

the hear and the now, you help us discern.

Plans and elaborate rituals, you fiercely disdain

chaos, noise and disorder, you warmly embrace.

To teach us, the frailties of ego and fickleness of pain

you don many a hat with simple, unassuming grace.

Your idea of love and affection is, as yet, unblemished

by the wariness and skepticism of age.

To take delight in your joys, as yet, unvarnished

warrants us to be mindful of a rare privilege!

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