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DAYNA, MY SECOND GRANDCHILD
Our Dayna is something like a rash,
That tickles where you cannot scratch.
She turns somersaults on the table.
Then tries to wash my brand new sable.
She has a certain brand of kisses,
Sticky and wet and so delicious,
That thoughts of discipline turn to ashes,
When blue eyes peek through long black lashes.
Pretending is her favorite game.
A bunny a kitten she's never the same.
She's an angel, a puppy, a bird in flight,
A chicken, a dancer, a big red kite.
Dayna entered life in second place.
But for me she fills a special space.
Like moon and stars or sunny day,
She lights my life in every way.