He
Is young, obnoxious
Just beginning
To form his world, his language
When he can stand still

He moves too much
Talks too much
Yells too much
Until we realize
All he has to say

He is a demon
When we want him to be calm
He is an angel
When he laughs
When he smiles, while he sleeps

She
Is younger yet
With fresh eyes that seek only brightness
I pray
She will never lose them
Though I know she will

Her happiness is simple still
A world of dolls and water and sidewalk chalk
Her love is still at full volume, her anger even louder
She drives us insane, she is insane
In the best of ways

And the last
Is the youngest yet
He cannot walk
Unless we help him
He cannot talk, he can only cry,
And laugh and almost dance

He is a new canvas
Not conscious enough
To create his own painting
For him, for them, all I have is the question
Of who they will be