in the eyes of a child

He watches the young one now,

In the first fruits of youth..

Just learning,

Just stretching, just reaching,

For the stars.

The little one has mastered crawling,

And walking, and running.

He observed the learning about foods,

In the one young one.

That nutrition comes in different flavors,

And textures.

The joy on the face of one,

Who enjoys ketchup by the handful.

Now comes the hard part, language.

Most days the youngling sounds, 

Like a wookie.

Long patterns of sentence structure,

With few decernible words.

He failed to witness the growth,

Of his young ones,

At this stage, in life.

Now in his golden years,

He is given a chance, aknew,

To witness growth, 

In a young one.

Lately he has noticed 

A change in language patterns,

And nuance,  to the wookie like sounds.

Nouns and verbs.

Swing me, down me,

Play me.

No real understanding of

Proper nouns and relationships.

There is mom, and Nick,

And grandma.

He attempted one day,

To teach the youngling,

The difference between gramma,

And grampa.

For the youngling this,

Is a bridge too far,

To grasp.

So for now he must recognize,

He too is gramma, in the eyes,

Of a child.