From Uncle Andy
Is it a supernatural tendency
When my spry ten-month-old nephew
Grabs my pinky and grips
Like grass holding fast to earth?
How do I express my love for him
On purpose? Time, that assassin,
Buries the idiot and the brain.
I only have years:
Lucas, I wish you birthdays and girls--
Keep grinning, and when you walk
To where you reach, enjoy barefoot suntans
During the summers of spring.
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