I've just been re-reading some of your poems.
They fill me with pride in your talent
And spaun so many memories of you.
I remember how as littlest child you fussed and fumed
over wrinkled socks within your tiny shoes;
How there was no peace until shoes were removed
and socks made smooth.
I remember your protests and how you'd fidget
over shirt sleeves wrinkled under your jacket.
Can any of us ever forget your cries from your carseat?
Help! I'm stuck!
Forgive us now, for failing then to see
your ever restlessness to be free,
Be that as it may, Alex, suffer me to say
I hope to live a bit longer yet
to glory in the pride of all you will do,
to share in further heights destined for you.