I wrote this poem for my first daughter when she was 6 months old. Now her baby is 10 months old. Time doesn't just fly--it's supersonic.
Crying baby, I wish you could tell me What's troubling you. My heart is swollen, Aching, overflowing with Love for you. A reservoir after a Fierce rainstorm. Barely contained. As your dad, it's My job to mold the world Into a smooth path for you, To get the boulders out of Your way. I know I can't, But I'll try. You're screaming so much, Your little eyebrows are red. I suspect that someday You will learn that Being a little hungry or Tired aren't really worth Fussing about. Someday, when you Have a crying baby Of your own, You won't remember This moment, but Maybe you will think The same thing about Your child. How strange That thought seems To me now—my Crying baby Becoming a parent. But that day will come Too soon, too quickly. But let's not dwell On that now. In this moment, Let me Cradle you in my arms, Quietly hum Brahms to you, And rock you gently, Softly, slowly To sleep. For Katy
Copyright © 2023 by David K. Carpenter
