When Liam greets the day he
   Often starts to whinny—
     He’s looking for his ninny.
                                    Yes, it’s trite,
     But he slept just like a baby
                                    All the night.

Sweet Liam in the mornin’ is,
  Calm, with skin a-glowin’, his
     Happy chin a-grinnin’ is—
                                    We’re so blessed.
     I change the diaper, his
                                     Mom gets him dressed.

As rain makes puddles glimmer,
   Good Liam starts to simmer;
      He hates the toenail trimmer—
                                      Yells at mom.
      His forehead waxes grimmer—
                                      Storms have come.

If birth’s a brand new page,
   And all the world’s a stage,
      Who’d think that—God! Such rage
                                      (He’s a mad guy)
      Would show in tender age—
                                       Why does he cry?

Then suddenly the storm is over;
   We were in nettles, now in clover;
       If he were just a little older
                                       And could talk,
       He’d say, “Mom, let’s take the stroller
                                       For a walk.”

Our Liam, he prefers outdoors;
   He likes the trees and forest floors;
     We take him on extensive tours
                                       About the town.
     The backyard highway traffic roars
                                       Calming him down.

But we don’t want to live outside.
   Inside the filthy modern tide
     Creature comfort instincts reside
                                        Yet it’s not fair
     To read our grown-up books and hide
                                         Him from fresh air.

“Enough’s enough! Your diaper’s dry
     There really is no need to cry.”
       The bath is drawn; with several sighs
                                          He brightly swims,
       Then nursing coos and lullabies
                                          Loosen his limbs.

The tender family’s driftin’ off
   To dream the dreams poets rhyme of
       I desperately suppress a cough—
                                          Can’t wake the lad;
       I’m thrilled that one day, soon enough,
                                           He’ll call me “Dad”.

And that’s the very find
   Disquieting the mind;
      Parenthood walks blind
                                          With a bundle.
      Will Liam’s life be grinding
                                          And disgruntled?

So tippy-toe with candle lit
   I rose to write these lines of wit:
      With all that I have read or writ
                                          Accumulating knowledge
       Remunerary use of it’s
                                          What sends a boy to college.

--Dunstan Skinner, November 2006