Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 214

For this week’s prompt, write a baby poem. The poem could be about a human baby, animal baby, or any other type of baby (alien, plant?). Remember: Baby could be an expression used to describe an adult’s baby-ish behavior, or a term of endearment. Heck, I’m sure someone might even try to write a poem about the candy bar that has baby in its name.

Here’s my attempt:

“Baby, baby”

Baby, baby, don’t cry at night.
Baby, baby, don’t fuss and fight.
Baby, baby, just smile and play
like tomorrow is still today.
When the diapers need to be changed
or the teddy bears rearranged,
just remember you’ll be all right.
Baby, baby, don’t cry at night.


Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer


Where Fiction Comes to Life!

Check out The Writer’s Lab, by Sexton Burke, a place to experiment on fiction until it comes to life. This book challenges and encourages writers to step out of their comfort zones and write incredible stories. Click to continue.


Want more poetry? Check out these previous posts:

You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

120 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 214

  1. JRSimmang

    at first,
    breathe only air,
    my lungs, foreign sacs,
    inflating and deflating with light.

    What is this, around me, surrounding
    me in what I can only assume
    is light? But is that the proper word?
    We come into this world so knowledgeable and wise
    only to have to learn to speak the language of man.

    It’s gone too soon.
    When we become upright,
    we cling to the clouds only to find
    they sift through our fingers.
    When comes the point we no longer bend
    but break and snap and collect rust?
    When comes the day of reckoning?

    “What is this quintessence of dust?
    Man delights not me.”

  2. stepstep


    ‘Twas baby who saved my life,
    ‘Twas baby that made everything alright,
    ‘Twas baby who made me see the light,
    ‘Twas baby.

    ‘Twas baby where it all began,
    ‘Twas baby made me say “I can”,
    ‘Twas baby my heart lays in the sand,
    ‘Twas baby.

    ‘Twas baby no more lies,
    ‘Twas baby, no more cries,
    ‘Twas baby all high fives,
    ‘Twas baby.

    ‘Twas baby I will say “I do”,
    ‘Twas baby I know it’s only you,
    ‘Twas baby I know this love is true,
    ‘Twas baby.


    1. MarvinSchrebe

      Babies can certainly change a person’s life: most people they change for the better. Some people they change for the worse. I know my son changed my life. I like this poem a lot.

      I invite you to submit to my magazine: Mid-Ohio Valley Poetry Magazine. E-mail for particulars at We pay $15.00 per issue if we use your poetry or a subscription for one year. Subscriptions rates are $15.00 postal and $10.00 e-mail. I hope I’m allowed to say this.

  3. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    come follow sweet foal
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    come follow sweet foal,
    into this field of poppies
    red and yellow and green
    beneath your newborn frogs so tender.
    we’ll follow your dam to where
    the best grass lies still
    for hide-and-seek and nap taking.
    i’ll tickle your muzzle hairs
    and pretend-brush the russet down
    that is your hide until you
    rear, or snort, or nip back in jest.
    we’ll spend the coming summer
    catching reflections in one another’s eyes,
    and savoring golden delicious apples
    under blue skies and summer rains
    while you grow into the leather halter
    i made for you when you were but
    a small teddy bear tucked
    safely away in your mother’s belly,
    and i first heard your soft whinny
    impatient against her womb,
    eager to bring the welcome banner
    to us instead.

    © 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  4. bluerabbit47


    Already branded
    they toddle
    on unsteady legs
    behind their
    mothers in the
    muddy field,
    charges of long
    tradition, herders
    from the Pyrannes,
    their ancestors
    have surrendered
    still mild
    to feed and warm
    ours. How
    painful to give

  5. LouiseBilborough

    “No, let me. I’ll show you how to do it right.”
    An hour past, “No, you can’t hold him like that.”
    “You’re spoiling him,” she says later that night.
    And in the morning, “You shouldn’t let him fuss so long.”

    I remember the days, weeks and months,
    The years of terror. All that time
    I was convinced I would screw you up.
    That I was doing it all wrong.

    Her constant admonitions,
    Her thirty-year-old, out-of-date advice.
    “He’s teething; he’ll catch a chill.”
    Never-ending “When I had my children…”

    But you grew up
    Happy, strong, and I am proud.
    Maybe an issue or two
    That were caused by my over-careful touch.
    But you turned out all right,
    Didn’t you?

    I watched you grow taller than me.
    And smarter.
    And kinder.
    And as you found someone else
    To replace me, as the most important woman
    In your life.

    And as she cradles that little bundle,
    Holding him tight,
    My old heart beats lighter.

    I watch her fumble,
    Until she finally has him swaddled tight.
    And I smile, and I say,
    “You’re doing great.”

  6. hurtin-heart

    Perfect love

    Nine month’s I carried you,nine months I loved,talked and sang to you as you grew and formed into what God intented for you. Then the day came for me to see you! Such a perfect baby and as I laid eyes on you,you took my breath away. On that day my life was changed and I knew it would never be the same. From a beautiful baby to a wonderful man you have grown. I held you through sickness,tears,laughter and fears. I taught you to crawl and walk and most of all I told you about God. Now I must let you go,for you’re not a little baby anymore. But in my heart you will always be my baby and I will always love you so.

  7. Amy

    Daddy’s Girl

    He guffaws at the idea;
    still so small in his eyes,
    incapable of fending
    for myself.

    The disbelief was present
    in the aching tear on his
    cheek last year- when he passed
    my hand to another man.

    Now they well up again,
    just thrice in his life.
    Each instance relating to
    his little girl.

    A birth, a re-birth, and now
    another birth; his nostalgic
    gaze conveys his stoic

    I will always be his baby.

  8. PressOn


    Your eyes have the glow of the morning,
    when sunrise is warming the earth,
    but yet have a touch of a warning
    that their laughter may not convey mirth,

    and in time I took heed of the warning
    that my dreams and your ways would collide,
    and left you, one late summer morning,
    for, baby, you’re cold inside.

        1. PKP

          Just stopped in to read a few – for a few moment – caught your comment to another poet – you say you’re “new to this?” well you are a natural – and must have been writing in your heart or simply not sharing for all your years – this poem is elegant and lovely … Bravo 🙂

  9. JojoS

    I thought it would be fun to do a child’s point of view! Please leave comments to help me improve! I’m just starting out! Thank you!

    “New Brother”

    Brother, why do you yell?
    I’m in my room.
    and as mom sleeps in her shell,
    I’m left to doom.

    “Taking a nap”
    is what she said,
    leading to mishap
    with the fenced-in bed.

    Why is it I,
    the one stuck for the clean?
    Your not very shy,
    though, not to be mean.

    All my time that you shave!
    I’m not a full-time volunteer!
    Merely a standing slave
    for our mom, over here.

    Truly, I say,
    It’s impossible to avoid,
    to awake, night and day,
    frazzled and annoyed.

    I know it’s not your fault
    but it’s easy for me to accuse
    and not so much as halt
    when you have no voice to use!

    But even if I feed jar food
    while staring at my typer,
    watch your childish mood
    and change your diaper,

    you can’t make me
    not like you…

    But to let you know,
    it’s in the beginning
    that all sibling rivalry begins.

    1. PressOn

      I am new to this myself, and so am hesitant to suggest anything, but I think “Your” in the third stanza should be “You’re.” I think the double turn at the end is very effective.

    2. PKP

      Hello there and WELCOME… a delightful twist from the child’s point of view … the rhythym is wonderful – I would just re-read and perhaps tweak a tiny bit when the beat may sound the tiniest bit off – but all is all a fun read ! The only major change I might make IMHO (in my humble opinion) would be to continue the rhyme in the last line with pehaps

      But to let you know
      it’s in the beginning
      that all sibling rivalry begins to grow!

  10. Brian Slusher


    Faux offspring, pink plastic
    with fluttering lids, pudgy
    thumbs fitted to their
    socketed lips, they lay
    in their boxes waiting to
    wet or waaa, infantile
    facsimiles we’ll drag by
    heel or threaten to throw
    out the window until
    our sisters cry, or plop
    into a manger under
    a nailed-up star, or
    find orphaned in a heap
    by a trailer’s shell or
    musing in a dusty chair,
    those hard eyes almost
    closed, remembering
    their molten birth,
    the steel mold that
    determined everything.

  11. swatchcat

    Out of the mouths of babes

    Philosophers come from the oddest places
    Theories of imaginable spaces
    Innocent no influence or trace of
    Outside waste, they’re all true aces.

  12. foodpoet

    Peas to Blueberries

    I handle all that comes
    But the news of being a great aunt
    Auntie my baby’s the size of a pea
    The news was great felt old but happy

    Being a great aunt
    And mom, telling mom and no reaction
    The news was great felt old but happy
    But now as I hold mom’s hand tears come

    Mom, telling mom and no reaction
    No laughing excitement at being a great grandmother
    Now as I hold mom’s hand tears come
    And I cannot go on.

    No laughing excitement at being a great grandmother
    I handled all that came
    And I cannot go on.
    Auntie my baby’s now the size of a blueberry

  13. Connie Peters


    I think of Hannah of the Bible
    who had competition
    from her husband’s other wife

    who ridiculed her for being barren.
    Her husband said, “Don’t I
    mean more to you than ten sons?”

    Hannah begged God for a baby
    in such a way the priest
    thought she was drunk.

    So if you see me at church
    and think I’m inebriated
    I’m just begging God for grandbabies.

    I love my husband and children
    but they don’t fill the bill
    for ten grandchildren.

  14. julie e.

    One Year.

    One year gone,
    the year of “firsts”–
    First Thanksgiving
    First Christmas
    First birthday.
    First anniversary.

    One year gone,
    one year since
    you didn’t wake up
    in the morning,
    leaving me dangling
    from this earth
    by a fraying strand
    of thread.

    “One year gone”
    births in me
    a baby-sized hope
    for the next year:
    for less sorrow,
    fewer tears,
    and a stronger tie
    to this earth
    where you no longer

      1. Connie Peters

        Oops, sorry Julie I had you mixed up with someone one here whose baby had passed away awhile back. So I’m praying your baby sized hope will grow into adult sized. 🙂 I have four sisters and I know it would be extremely difficult to lose one.

      1. PKP

        Nothing more can be said – but you’ve put the tears into words – the searing painful ache into words of beauty and – we read – and we share – with full hearts and for many I am sure like myself through eyes blurred with tears.

  15. Sara McNulty

    Baby, I Love Those Paws

    Still, silent, resembles
    stuffed animal with big
    button eyes, wide nose,
    black and white body.
    Tumbling fur crawls
    toward bamboo to chew,
    chubby paws rake the ground.
    Happy baby panda.

  16. seingraham

    Who Knew

    The girls grew up, became the kind
    Of women we knew they would
    Kind, compassionate, caring—selected
    Men we could only have wished
    For them, dreamed about—perfect
    Choices both of them—we breathed
    Easy—not sad empty nesters, relieved.

    Then, in what seemed like a heartbeat
    We learned we were about to be grandparents
    It seemed a surreal concept at first
    Right up until those first sonograms
    Especially the video when you turned
    As if looking straight at the camera
    And opened your eyes—we were goners—
    In love with a baby not yet born

    We tried—oh how we tried baby boy
    Not to be too excited about your impending
    Birth—not to be overly crazy about the idea
    Of you—to no avail—you had my heart
    In your tiny unborn fist and were squeezing
    The life out of it—long before you arrived

    How does it happen I wonder
    That out of nowhere this love develops
    So strong that I knew, without question
    Another child was coming into the world
    That I would gladly throw myself under a bus for
    Should the need ever arise …
    It is one of the great mysteries of life I don’t need
    To know the answer to but I do wonder…

  17. elishevasmom

    The Cradle Robbers

    While preparing my
    evening salad, I
    set the ingredients

    out on the butcher
    block in a row:
    spring greens (a delicate

    mixture of baby
    spinach, baby
    lettuces and

    radicchio); gourmet
    baby seedless
    cucumbers; baby

    carrots; chopped
    walnuts; raisins and
    oh, and I almost forgot

    the tomatoes. When
    I was young, (back
    when mere mortals

    like us didn’t eat
    gourmet anything,)
    we had regular tomatoes

    and cherry tomatoes—
    which were small,
    like cherries.

    cherry tomatoes
    are like cups

    of coffee—large,
    grande and super
    grande. I usually

    get grape tomatoes.
    And like their
    name-sake, their

    shape and size
    tend to vary—some.
    But what with

    nearly everything
    else be a ‘baby’
    something, I

    tend to think of them
    as baby tomatoes.
    So with that in mind,

    when I find some that
    are especially

    it makes me think
    of the harvesters
    as cradle robbers.

    Ellen Knight 3.13.13

    The Cradle Robbers

    While preparing my
    evening salad, I
    set the ingredients

    out on the butcher
    block in a row:
    spring greens (a delicate

    mixture of baby
    spinach, baby
    lettuces and

    radicchio); gourmet
    baby seedless
    cucumbers; baby

    carrots; chopped
    walnuts; raisins and
    oh, and I almost forgot

    the tomatoes. When
    I was young, (back
    when mere mortals

    like us didn’t eat
    gourmet anything,)
    we had regular tomatoes

    and cherry tomatoes—
    which were small,
    like cherries.

    cherry tomatoes
    are like cups

    of coffee—large,
    grande and super
    grande. I usually

    get grape tomatoes.
    And like their
    name-sake, their

    shape and size
    tend to vary—some.
    But what with

    nearly everything
    else be a ‘baby’
    something, I

    tend to think of them
    as baby tomatoes.
    So with that in mind,

    when I find some that
    are especially

    it makes me think
    of the harvesters
    as cradle robbers. Ellen Knight 3.13.13

    (write a baby poem)

  18. Jane Shlensky

    Smokey’s Miracle

    She sat up with him crying
    every night, him already a big boy,
    his legs too long for her lap,
    but still aching, whimpering
    on her shoulder, held
    by her round arms.

    She could not remember
    a single verse, but she could hear
    Smokey Robinson crooning
    in her head and followed his lead
    Ooooh, baby baby
    oo-oo-oo-oooh, baby baby
    over and over patting him
    to that rhythm, until his tears
    stopped and his breathing
    changed from hurt to helped.
    Then she sang it for herself.

  19. Jane Shlensky

    Small Lessons

    All baby
    things are dear, even
    those who grow
    fangs, claws, angry hungry maws.
    Innocent eyes shine.

    Once babies
    learn something of what
    they are, they
    start to teach us what we are,
    nurtured nature, hope.

  20. Domino


    Back in the days when I thought I’d
    always be your baby. “Don’t leave
    so soon,” I so naively cried.
    I never thought you’d make me grieve
    back in the days when I thought I’d
    always be your charming child bride
    How did you learn not to believe?
    Back in the days when I thought I’d
    always be yours. Baby, don’t leave.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  21. PoM

    A babe in the world among the literary deities
    I coo in metaphors and smiles
    So sweet to the hearing and in the reading too
    A newbie to language my contributions I’m egger to make
    The quill in hand like the rattle of a babe
    Astonished and amazed at the melody’s I hope to create
    I set my sail a midst the parchment a vastness of papaya
    Destination not always known I experiment as I go
    Compass points made up as my quill sails the parchment sea
    Seeking new adventures new worlds and creations
    A bud before it blooms a beautiful flower soon to bring forth
    This is where I’m at a new born babe in the literary arts
    A literary master I hope to someday grow to be
    A literary masterpiece I hope will someday come out of me
    A poet in diapers at the moment I be
    A poetic babe yes that’s me

  22. taylor graham


    So many rejects here –
    a three-legged greyhound pup who’ll never race;
    a gangly colt too ugly to be shown in halter;
    one astigmatic alley-kitten who can’t focus
    on the smallest, slowest rats;
    a gosling with no sense of vector
    who’ll never join the migratory flight.
    What becomes of this menagerie of infant failure?
    How can these misfit babies
    find their place in a world entranced
    with stardom and the rapacious bottom line?

  23. PressOn


    There is a spotlight, called a baby,
    to weakly light some places;
    it’s often used on stages, maybe
    to heighten weakened graces.

    An old director once caused furor
    before we broke for dinner;
    he saw an actress in the mirror
    and said, “Get a baby in her.”

  24. Mystical-Poet

    Baby’s Lovin’ Arms

    Beamin’ in my baby’s lovin’ arms
    Beamin’ in my baby’s lovin’ arms
    I’m hot under the collar, waitin’ round the holler
    To shine in my baby’s lovin’ arms
    ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
    You know I think I’ll take that girl a fishin’
    For those sweet times in her arms I’m a wishin’
    To pamper and a coddle her, maybe even fondle her
    When I’m grinnin’ in my baby’s lovin’ arms
    ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
    I think I’ll take that old motorhome for a ride
    A few scratches and dents never damaged my pride
    Keeps my checkbook in the red
    Pains my back and aches my head
    When I’m glowin’ in my baby’s lovin’ arms
    ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
    Nothing she ever does seems to bother me
    Our love’s as plain as day for all to see
    From the mornin’ when the red bird sings
    Till the evenin’ I’ll ride angel wings
    When I’m beamin’ in my baby’s lovin’ arms
    ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧
    Anything my dear darling’s heart desires
    You know I’ll stop at nothing, I’ll never tire
    Come a little closer and I’ll make it clear
    Find a job for my sweetheart dear
    So she can support me for the rest of my life !!

    © ~ Randy Bell ~ 2013

  25. Lisa PK

    Did You Say Bay B?

    Twenty-six loading docks labeled A thru Z
    Trucks loading and unloading have it down to a T.
    Forward, reverse without scratch or dent
    All day and all night without relent.
    A radio call from truck 173,
    “At which bay do you want me to be?”
    I carefully check the dock list and see,
    “Bill, please pull in to loading bay B!”

  26. JWLaviguer

    I Was a Teenage Breech Baby

    Turns out
    I was turned around
    ready to get the ground
    before I could

    Chalk it up
    to experience
    some people
    have their head
    up their asses
    in greater masses
    these days
    it seems to me
    they all need compasses
    to find their way
    find themselves
    and not their

    Fill their glasses
    with liquid courage
    try to discourage
    the fear
    they hide
    at the bottom
    of a

    Throttle back
    just let it

    if you like
    no one will listen
    until you give

    not or be damned
    for all eternity
    until you

    all my money on the

    helped me

    what you reap
    or is it the other way

    of flesh
    once or

  27. JWLaviguer

    Baby Blue (or pink?)

    And the baby said
    Cry baby cry
    it builds character
    puts hair on your chest
    you’ll grow up big and strong
    just like your daddy
    now be a good girl
    and go back to sleep.

  28. RJ Clarken

    Pop Star Baby

    “Oh Babyyyyy, yeah,” sang the pop star,
    and all the ‘tween girls screamed, “Me! Me!”
    He could have sung the song off-key
    or even just played air guitar.

    The older kids yawn. “How bizarre.”
    (And most adults somehow agree.)
    But all the ‘tween girls screamed, “Me! Me!”
    “Oh Babyyyyy, yeah,” sang the pop star.

    Each generation claims, “By far,
    OUR music was the best. And we
    cannot quite get your ‘Wanna-Be.
    This ‘new’ stuff makes us NU-CLE-AR!”
    “Oh Babyyyyy, yeah,” sang the pop star.


  29. Nancy Posey

    His Sweet Old Baby

    Their kids blushed to hear him call her Baby.
    What kind of talk is that for a grown man?
    And their mama was sixty if she was a day,
    hair gone to grey, waist thick, those lines
    around her eyes carved by more than laughter.

    Even worse, sometimes they’d catch them
    all snuggled up, her in his lap in the den,
    lights out, all but the TV, sound turned down.
    Didn’t even have the decency to jump up,
    to look embarrassed, caught like that.

    Even in their teens, they’d realized other
    fathers and mothers didn’t act that way.
    Their friends felt free to barge right in
    their parents’ bedroom unannounced.
    Their own unspeakable fears went unspoken.

    Not until she fell, broke her hip, daring
    to laugh at what a cliché she had become
    did they notice the fear mingled there
    with the adoration, as he wrapped her
    in his frail arms on the floor, waiting,

    Knowing better than to move her,
    to risk hurting her. His own tears
    mingled with those she fought back.
    Arriving on the scene, right before
    the ambulance, they heard his wordless
    lullaby, the song he sang to his baby.

  30. De Jackson

    baby poem

    when it grows up,
    this poem wants to be
    a raging fire
    a tumultuous sea
    a prowling beast
    a fierce and xx wind

    (if only it would

    and then it
    tumbled to the snow, and
    discovered it was
    all along.

    when it grows up,
    this poem wants
    to be
    a quiet song.


    1. De Jackson

      Oops. Typo.

      Correct, here:

      baby poem

      when it grows up,
      this poem wants to be
      a raging fire
      a tumultuous sea
      a prowling beast
      a fierce and fearsome wind

      (if only it would

      and then it
      tumbled to the snow, and
      discovered it was
      all along.

      when it grows up,
      this poem wants
      to be
      a quiet song.


  31. PowerUnit

    The writing workshop begins with a lecture
    admonishment of the babies at the table
    from the Matriarch of pretty prose
    double spaced, named, numbered
    your childish stories are not.
    And where is your stack
    of marked up, hacked up, amateur scribbled up copies.
    How can we discuss these joyous, feeble jokes
    if we can’t read from our notes?
    Couldn’t you read between the lines of my
    directionless letter?
    Do you know nothing of this business?
    Why on earth are you here?

    A child I am to this world of round tables
    butted up to make one
    to rub egos in each others’ faces
    our soothers clashed in storied war
    our chests uncomfortable, tight
    blocking knowledge and opinion
    pressed by an angry mother of word
    guarding the truths we all know but are scared to admit.

    My writing is not the best
    but neither is theirs
    nor hers.
    We’re all bobbing in the same boat
    and the far shore hides from our pens.
    We won’t make it if we don’t row, together
    write from within
    agree to disagree
    to stroke each other’s fears
    and encourage our creative talents.

    Spit out that sickness, young child
    Row, write, and grow.
    Behold the truth and magic of all written words
    Labeled, numbered, or not.

  32. PressOn


    When Ruth hit them out,
    far, far out they stayed;
    he had such great clout
    in games that he played.

    I learned, as a lad,
    from old man McCabe:
    “I knew what he had
    when Ruth was a babe.”

  33. Misky


    baby carrots dressed in orange
    sweeter than candy
    orangier than Halloween.
    Peeled, cut and steamed,
    slicked light with honey
    and gleaming

    Poetic form: Epulaeryu

  34. Yolee

    Of a Partially Smeared Journal – 1985

    How do I begin to gather letters
    that will convert words
    to rise above their secular nest
    and truly see what the heart
    by this time revered?

    Who can live singularly
    as the extension of one’s self
    develops and not call it a miracle?

    Born and unborn,
    we are a couple.

    No other connection
    pushes a better point
    than what has become
    of my belly.

    You will give birth
    to my first spring
    of motherhood:
    Please be patient
    with me.

    I was your keeper
    before I knew
    how to handle
    two heartbeats.

    You were born
    at the bone of day
    when the sun spread
    its wings of light
    as if to announce
    “come see this spiritual being
    called girl resting
    under my high light.

    Baby, my shadow was a bare
    wall, but you hang the art
    of your presence in it.

  35. Misky


    Give me your irresistible smile,
    That I’m told is more likely gas,
    As here I wait, dear me alas,
    while you cry and wail
    Kick and flail
    Until you decide
    to give me your irresistible smile.

  36. SharoninDallas

    (Sing to the tune of Santa Baby)

    Penta Baby,
    Grow a flower for all to see.
    Make it pretty, Girl.
    Penta Baby, Grow another flower tonight.

    Penta Baby,
    Grow a flower for me, Oh yeah.
    Make the garden pretty, Uh huh.
    And make your Mama happy tonight.

  37. Andrew Kreider


    So if I hit the chunky blue star
    with my left foot and then pull
    backwards on the green frog
    the doorbell will immediately ring.
    Except this time it didn’t work.
    Maybe if I use the other foot
    and then push the frog instead.
    Or bite it. This is really tricky.

    I’m pretty sure the set of keys
    always falls downwards.
    And beloved-goddess-woman
    arrives whenever I scream.

    You can take that one to the bank.
    So you see it’s just the doorbell
    thing that has me stumped. Wait:
    maybe if I pull Mr. Rumpole’s tail.

  38. Marie Elena

    And my favorite poem about my favorite baby, who is now 2 years old. Time is going way to fast. 🙁


    A woman knows instinctively, it seems,
    Which moments will leave prints upon her soul.
    Her future life weaves fabric through her dreams
    And writes upon her heart, as though a scroll.

    A woman thinks she knows what to expect
    From pioneering moments in her world –
    Anticipation of events’ effects,
    And how her heart will feel as they’re unfurled.

    Yet, there was I, as wholly unprepared
    As if I’d never given you a thought.
    My heart and hub were all-at-once ensnared –
    I would convey in words, yet I cannot.

    Sophia Rose: a gift from God above –
    New life. New breath. New gift. New print. New love.

  39. Marie Elena

    Okay, Robert — I “bit.” 😉

    SWEET MYSTERY (an Epulaeryu)

    American candy bar
    Named for … Ruth Cleveland (?!)
    “Nestlé make the very best
    Chocolate!” Peanuts!
    Nougat! Named after
    Babe (?!)


This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.