Happy Birthday, Luke

At four, you were precocious,
            my little Leprechaun,
leaping through life,
all four-leaf clovers and
top o’ the mornin’ to you.

I remember how I forgot
            to dress you in green
for St. Paddy’s celebration,
(two years in a row, I know),
the luck of the Irish not with me.

We found our pot of gold
            when we cried together
until we made each other laugh,
when we laughed together until
we made each other cry.

Three days from now, like magic,
            you will turn 13.
Look at you, still eating
Lucky Charms, spring blessing
in these rainbow days we share.