On Skype I see my nephew grow
His tousled blonde hair – golden snow
He's told his auntie is 'on line'
He stares but does not speak this time.
At seventeen months, he weighs in strong
Though some infections trot along.
He toughens up – becomes immune
Resilient Thomas perks up soon!
He's now a handful, apt to stray
He drives his mini truck all day!
And though he stands up on two feet
And sways – he sits down on his seat!
However, now I have been told
He's broken out of silent mould:
Words one and two are “cat” and “car”;
As an orator he won't go far!
But at the crèche with kids and toys
He'll learn to filter words from noise
At this age “play” is where it's at
Perhaps that's where he saw the cat?
(c) Poet in the woods 2015