I poured your cereal today, my little four, though you’ve been pouring your own for a while now.
I spread the peanut butter on your bread at lunch, though this is a favourite trick of yours.
I pushed you on the swings today, though you often pump higher than I push.
I read to you tonight, my four, though you’ve begun to read to me instead.
I want to keep you, little four; little, four. Little. Four.
But you outgrow yourself, second by second. You outpace me, day by day. You leap to greet mornings; you race to everywhere.
In the morning you’ll be gone, little four, my little four. I built the bike you’ll leave me on, little four. It’s waiting there, your rocket, your future on two pink rims.
I added training wheels, to make four, my little four. I get to keep that much of you, my four. Slow down, wobble, get right, get straight, get strong.
Tonight I say goodbye to you, my four, my little four. Tomorrow I’ll go riding with my five.