Words come from her like song,
Or the fumble of a lamb on its first legs,
Stubborn and shaky,
And beautifully sure,
As if she knows she is building
A platform for herself,
She smiles after each one,
especially her favorite, 'all done'
She says, closing the book,
with the finality of a managing director,
'No' she says,
with the coyness of an actress.
'Wait' she shouts,
to the fleeing four year old legs of her sister.
'Granny' she whispers,
as if she knows there is much more to discover.
Each day her tongue tries another,
like a lasso over sound that will stick.
Today with the red sky of morning,
reflecting off the horse's back.
Her eighteen month mouth,
said 'wow'.
