The tiny mind inside the corpus
Explores this wrecked world,
And being beautiful and hopeful
You’ve been born. So, Thank you Lord.
Your golden hair is like vine of grape
The sky is sleeping in your eyes,
Your nose reflects my nose’s shape
And lips, your lips... they never lie.
Your tiny arms around my neck
Make me feel … oh, so unique!
And the pose you always take
Makes you the winner with paper stick.
I know, you close to me my sweetie,
But I can’t take it dully
I will be always with you, pretty
Just… don’t call me “mommy”…
Helen
© Copyright: Critique, 2002
Свидетельство о публикации №102062900088
Свидетельство о публикации №102062900088
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