The Preston Post

Preston, our third,

I've realized now...

no poem for you is penned,

and so it's time to endow

your little self with a rhyme--

be it short or long.

Here, from me to you,

is your un-musical song.

Now "what to write, what to say"...

should I capture your cheeks?
Maybe that would be fun,

for they go on for weeks...

or your hips that can shake

like no other force.

Must be momma's genes--

yes, they must be the source.

There's those envied eyelashes,

just begging for mascara.

But your a boy so I won't.

Still--it's just plain unfair...

I could talk of your charm--

a personality for days.

You love people, your friendly,

timidity never in your way.

I love how you link

arm-in-arm when we sit.

You grab my cheeks and kiss me--

fishy-style--heavy on the spit.

You're always on hand

for a thumbs up and a wink.

And when, someday, you lose your lisp

my heart will just sink.

Too much to write, to say...

but wait, I just did!

Yes, here is your poem,

Mr. Prep, my big kid.

They all have one: of Paige ~ of Trevor ~ of Gavin