Milk drunk

By | December 7, 2009

The hand flops limp in an abandoned sprawl

As the mother shifts the baby to its bed

A brief moment of wakefulness and it seeks around

And touches the soft fabric of mom’s shirt

Clutching that precious bit of mom

Reassured, falls limp again

As only one with a full stomach and dry bottom can

When he has spent his waking moments striving to be his best

An enterprising baby is now a satisfied baby

And heads off into whatever baby dream worlds exist

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