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terry-collettPoems
The baby is never far From your thoughts; each Passing pram or pushchair Nudges you into looking, Into remembering, aching. You try to turn your head When some mother feeds From breast some baby in arms, You hold back the tears, when Reflecting on how the small Mouth opens like some frail Fish out of water and you want It to be yours, your breast The baby latches onto, your Eyes that the babe searches In wonderment. Often nightly, You tiptoe to the phantom cot And gaze at the ghostly image That ought to be there, never Far from your thoughts, never More than a fingertip away Is the memory of that last hold, That final gaze, that eased out Wheeze and you left out in Grief’s dark corridor and cold.
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May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:24 AM UTC
BABY IN THOUGHTS.
The baby is never far From your thoughts; each Passing pram or pushchair Nudges you into looking, Into remembering, aching. You try to turn your head When some mother feeds From breast some baby in arms, You hold back the tears, when Reflecting on how the small Mouth opens like some frail Fish out of water and you want It to be yours, your breast The baby latches onto, your Eyes that the babe searches In wonderment. Often nightly, You tiptoe to the phantom cot And gaze at the ghostly image That ought to be there, never Far from your thoughts, never More than a fingertip away Is the memory of that last hold, That final gaze, that eased out Wheeze and you left out in Grief’s dark corridor and cold.
POEM WRITTEN IN 2009.
terry-collett
Written by
terry-collett
English
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:24 AM UTC
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