A loud sob goes out,
awoken grumps go next.
What fun is a quiet night?
Still, I savour my slumber,
like your beauty, when it gets darker.
Every morning, you shine finest.
Your smile charms best,
even if my dimples grace the fairest.
Your eyes, where virtues exist,
they glow like the moonlight,
a beacon of hope for my dimmed light.
First of the fourth;
july 23rd, on the eve you came about,
from hearth place to Queen street,
fast and furiously through the traffic,
to when I alight and lift your bearer;
on my hands, whence you broke water,
your being came in as a blessing.
You are not mine, but you are.
If this joyous an uncle, imagine me a father.
Someday, you’ll know mine too.
Today, fortune has given many to care for you.
Many gifts could be,
yet, you’re the one God chose, to be.
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