A shaken up soda-bottle, full of fun;
of spunk, of funk, and sun, sun, sun.
Shining eyes and toothy grin,
in the game to play, not lose or win.
Fingers in the frosting, tongue on the spoon,
he nibbles on crackers and giggles like a loon.
Four years old this wise little guy,
snuggles me, tuggles me, hugs me dry.
I'd eat him like candy if I only could--
fly him to the moon and tickle him good.
On this special day when he turns four,
You might catch me wishing I had one more
(but don't count on it).
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