The Grandlings sit one on each arm of your favourite chair,
You tell stories and sing songs.
Squeaky childhood voices learning and playing and imagining.
The world the whole world is open to their amazing minds.
Then one day they are too big to sit together
On the arms of your favourite chair.
So they fight to take it in turns.
Fighting for ‘their’ side and a lot of ‘Hurry up Nana!’
Then that is too squeezy.
The chair is wobbly and the arms askew
So you buy a sofa.
And you sit in the middle, and you read and sing.
Then they are tall and fidgety and spread out
So you get a bigger sofa.
And long legs wiggle and
Dangle and hang upside down.
Then one day one lies on your bed with You Tube
And the other on the spare bed with Twitter.
And there you are, in your now rickety arm chair.
Rocking and rocking alone.