Poetry Archives

Her baby was so full of glee,
          And through the day
It laughed and babbled on her knee
          In happy play.
It pulled her hair all out of curl
          With noisy joy;
So peppy she was glad her girl
          Was not a boy.

Then as she longed for it to sleep,
          To her surprise
It just relaxed within her keep
          With closing eyes.
And as it lay upon her breast
          So still its breath,
So exquisite its utter rest
          It looked like death.

It seemed like it had slipped away
          To shadow land;
With tiny face like tinted clay
          And waxen hand.
No ghost of sigh, no living look . . .
          Then with an ache
Of panic fear and love she shook
          Her babe awake.