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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.