May the next summer  coming  be laden with the succulent  scent of ice cream and honey suckle.
The scent of the newborn baby due to come in April's next whispering breath.
Lay fresh amidst the daffodils of springtime the second grandchild of spring.
Three grandsons born in summertime and one at Christmas time.
Santa Claus brought Luc for Ben.
Another wee laddie, yet again.
Totally overrun with little men.
I have to wait so patiently to see what the baby is to be.
Tonight, I spent the evening holding tight to the heart of my baby grandson.
Oh to be trapped.
Held tight in my chair, for if I  move he will stir.
It felt so right.
The topic of many many poems before, now he's  doing so much more.
He's nearly crawling.
Bawling less.
Forging forward every day.
Waiting for his  first Christmas to come.
(C) LIVVI