Traces
My grandson traces in a book
To build up pencil skills.
From one car to another
Every wavy line instills
A feeling of accomplishment,
Preparing him to write.
He's like a nested fledgling
Not quite ready to take flight.
I watch him growing; with each step
That baby he replaces
And soon enough, his childhood
Will exist in merely traces.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2017
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