I could write a poem based solely on your eyes:
How they flash with innocence, too young to yet be wise,
How they sparkle when you smile, crinkle when you laugh,
How they furrow with indignation when we feel your baby wrath.
The lines that I would pen would speak of wide-eyed confusion,
The way the orbs light up at each newfound illusion,
The way your pupils grow so big and round and sweet,
The way your huge eyes twinkle when you're playing at my feet.
I would never play at Mother but as aunt I am complete
When I see the eyes look up at me from down at my feet.
