A year ago, you’d just started walking
On reins we held but were barely talking.
One year late, you won’t stop running
Around our home, and words won’t stop coming.
You tell us of the day you’ve have,
And who you’ve pushed that’s made you mad.
You tell us of the food you eat,
And what you play in the rain and play in the heat.
You now can read the second half
Of each Gruffalo sentence,
And you’ve developed an incredible laugh.
I watch you learn, and I am inspired,
But at seven p.m.
I’m fecking tired.