Poem: Babygirl.
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.
.
.
