Grandchildren…

Gr”Deepamma, will you sleep with me?”
The soft voice is irresistible…
As are the two tiny arms
That twine themselves around my neck.
I sing the soothing monotone
Of a traditional lullaby
That’s been sung to children for centuries.
The arms slacken, the breathing deepens.
The gentle curve of the cheek, the sweep of the closed lashes
The slight opening up of the fingers in sleep.
The soft rise and fall of her chest.
I remember the day when she, too
Was hardly more than a Peanut…
I called her Eli (mouse) then…
In the past three years, she may often
Slip her arms around my neck.
But it’s my heart that she has fettered
I kiss her, carefully, and think of her brother,
With whom I will revisit these heavenly places…
They send tendrils of love all around my heart,
These two: for ever more,
They have me wrapped around their tiny fingers.
I am surely the most willing, the most happy slave!
Grandchildren are even more joy-giving than children can be, I find.

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