Poem: Babygirl.



She’s small and dark and beautiful,

She bites her bottom lip, and pouts,

Her tiny fists will quickly clench

With temper, she’s a roustabout.

Each meal a long and laboured thing

With certain foods that are abhorred,

Each time we have to go somewhere

She picks the pink clothes she adores.

I can’t, I won’t, I never will

Declaimed with passion every day,

It’s wonderful to see her sleep,

Angelic then, in every way.



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