Such clear, blue eyes and a shock of brown hair,
Who're the sons of "Bailie and Sons"? He's one!
In Gram's yard, he has a plum tree namesake,
He's among her top, four-rated grandsons.
Now five feet tall, and almost eleven,
From such a small start, four pounds plus a bit.
Soon, he'll be looking down on his Gram-ma.
His folks hear, often, "My shoes just don't fit!"
A marvel of grand-kid-ship was he, when
By wee three, he could start up the "Puter".
Front row seat by ten, at his 1st rock concert,
And in-between, cooking eggs, ala-Topher.
Gage is the kind who gets it, and has a
Quick wit, himself. He loves puns and wry jokes.
His vocabulary? Remarkable!
Sometimes, it seems an old soul who just spoke.
He's curious, thoughtful, close to his mom,
A big help to his dad, as the oldest.
He's big brother to Max, his little bro,
Keeps up with "The Cousins", or tries his best.
Smiles B-i-g, should...say...Snicker Doodles appear,
With Gingerbread, he's a seasoned designer.
Not a puzzle can resist him for long,
Loves doodling, drawing; He swims, plays soccer.
Love 'ya, Gage, though I know you don't want me
Being mushy or worse, to kiss 'ya. E-e-w-w!
We have an understanding, too, 'bout hugs,
Criminently! What's a Gram-ma to do!
Just so you know, I've been through Eleven,
Seven times before. So here's the deal, Gage.
I won't tell on you, or embarrass you...IF...
You don't tell on me, when I don't act my age!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GAGE!
