(It was the 97th of such events),
My first great-grandson, Charlie, opened his blue eyes
And watched the world unfold its rich content.
And I mused about the vagaries of fate
(I could hardly the event joyfully celebrate):
A heart attack found me in bed
Recovering in misery, instead.
And I thought, as hours went slowly by
And the coincidence I began to perceive:
I will have to learn how to die
And he will have to learn to live.
In a year he'll learn to walk and talk
(I'll probably languish in my chair)
As generations stalk
What it means to be aware.
And yet I'm glad I lived to see him born
(Hope for the future I haven't forsworn),
That he will have a better turn of life
With happy dreams, much love and little strife.