Steps.

A pitter-patter of tiny feet.
Grasping, grabbing, sticky hands,
“I want that!” 
You slobber and point.
But they can’t understand.
Instead, the giants pull funny faces,
And tickle, to make you laugh.
Misunderstood, you scream at them;
“Change my nappy!”
“Give me a bath!”

From a babe-to-kid-to-teen-to-adult,
To now, the husk of nearly dead.
Sometimes recalling the library of people,
You never opened, or not enough.
Tears of regret for those words unread.

Life, love and all in between,
Countless suns, you saw arise and set.
Most memories now, so distant, missing.
Too easily, Alzheimer’s forgets.
Like the baby you were once before,
Without a tooth in your head.
Young, caring, pretty faces, now not giants,
Pitter-patter, as they tuck you, into bed.