Tummy full, diapy dry,
Daddy has me look high to the sky.
Where he starts another story,
my eyes growing wide with wonder,
he says it’s his favorite look of mine,
the thinker, the ponder.
The rhythm of his words,
the sound of his voice,
taking in, absorbing,
the intellectual’s choice.
Listeners learn, listeners understand,
I become such under his guiding hand.