Grandson unlike most of humanity
enjoys the sound of my singing
so together we make up songs.
He at ten weeks with green eyes,
jug ears and the occasional goofy smile
is an honest audience though a toothless critic
who frowns upon hard consonants
but relishes lengthy vowels:

        la la-la la la-la la, la la-la la
        la! la! la la-la
        ooo ooobie  
        ooo!
        be doobie doo
        green eyes, green eyes, green eyes, green,
        green eyes, green eyes, green eyes, green…

Who needs radio? I compose, he edits,
new melodies fill the room,
perhaps only we two can understand.
Don’t listen.