Coos are the fluffy clouds we float on,

Giggling the melting pot of hearts,

Then when we get titles, we hang on,

Mama, dada, are the undoings,

Even if life was before new space is made,

There is an extension with a life of its own,

We see ourselves in them,

They see lots of news to copy,

Stimulus and fodder for more than nurture,

And all the surroundings and nature,

The dreamy glee subsides,

They find voices and adventures,

Then it is living, side by side,

Hoping and giving,

Helping with the growing,

Observing and sharing,

Trying to soak up everything.