Sing Me Again

Sing Me Again

“Will you sing my song,
you know the one
that’s only
about me?”
Then we’d climb
into the Maxima
for Saturday’s shopping spree.
Perched upon the arm rest
illegal as could be,
she’d tuck a leg on either side
and clap her hands with glee.

“Sing me again,” she’d say.
“Sing my eyes
larkspur blue,
sing those apples
in my cheeks,
and sing my silly sandals too.
Sing my hair like sunny nectar
from a golden honeycomb,
and sing my voice
sweeter
than the hummingbirds hum.
O’ sing me as I watch him
drink water from a rose,
mawmaw,
sing my song again,
sing these little crooked toes.
Sing my smile wider
than a yellow quarter moon,
my laughter
like the jingle
of the creek’s clear, crystal tune.”

So I would smile and sing a story
about this tiny angel sprite,
for there was surely magic
in her joyous delight.
I knew I had God’s blessing
when I heard, so tenderly,
“Mawmaw,
I am the most’est happy
when you
are singing
me.”