Thursday 21 February 2019

I make a mistake


This poem is being awoken that causes a fright
This poem is hearing crying on a starlit night
This poem is a nudge in the back by my wife
This poem's about my turn to tend to the love of my life

So up and off to our sweet daughter's pink crib I go
So pick her up, tears vanish as a kiss I bestow
So a sweet smile comes on her now beaming face
So I smile too as she now looks around the whole place

We go off to the kitchen to warm some milk for her
We see a bottle of beer in there but I must demur
We warm up the milk in saucepan but make a mess
We put it in a bottle she drinks I give her a caress

I make a mistake by taking her in our room
I see at once that her face is now all abloom
I see that my dear wife is shaking her sweet head
I know now that I have to find another bed 

Image found at https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/252201647869405238/

9 comments:

  1. Robin, I so love this! What a sweet father you must have been! I can see your little girl's rosy face and smile. This poem was a sweet walk down a long-ago path, as I thought back to all those nighttime feedings, just me, a baby, and a slow sunrise creeping up over the mountains. Thanks so much for taking part in the prompt. It is always so lovely to read you.

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  2. ... so tiring, but so worth it. The memories are dear.

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  3. This poem is a boomerang of memories, Rob! How wonderful that your daughter is the love of your life - you must have been a great dad.

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  4. So funny to me as I'm very familiar with this routine...it's been years now though for me...I do miss those days and in the same breath I LOVE my sleep lol You captured the quiet/loud/quiet and emotions of these moments so well. Thank you, so much for sharing this piece!!

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  5. Cute, Robin. Your writer should not forget to clean up his mess. Wifey doesn't need to know.
    ..

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  6. This is so cute, sweet and adorable, Robin!🌹

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  7. Ah, the tenderness of fatherhood, a lovely thing.

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  8. Oh, I loved this! First stanza I loved most .... so many memories.

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