A Poem For A Baby

I have a child, just twelve months old,
who strangles snakes and garden rakes.
Strives with the gods of circumstance,
in death-match all his milestones’ takes.
Days like a toddler, nights like a newborn,
such an odd, chimerical constitution
that plays and eats and fights, and knows not sleep.

The sitter’s hollow eyes and sickly hue
After but three short hours apart
tells his parents ought but what we knew
This child he has no ceasing – only start!
I make exterior apology, but inwardly
must rejoice in some small vindication
‘Rambunctious’ – I feel rather proud to be your match.

Last blessed night, he finally slept
one full hour before midnight struck
and did not rise till six a.m.!
I slept, house slept, what the dickens?
He then fell promptly back asleep
and did not make a single peep
until just now – the clock tells me
it’s 8:30.

-Tara S


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