Science is for those who learn; poetry, for those who know. — Joseph Roux, Meditations of a Parish Priest
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To be a poet is a condition, not a profession. — Robert Frost
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Everything one invents is true, you may be perfectly sure of that. Poetry is as precise as geometry. — Gustave Flaubert

Sunday, July 19, 2009

~ Sugar Baby ~

Twinkling eyes, wrinkled hands
Reach for her precious gift
To touch a newborn sleeping babe
Gives her old heart such a lift

Marvel at the decades between them
To witness it, leaves you in awe
A woman living the night of her years
A babe just a week into dawn

Her trembling hand caresses the feet
Of the babe all but dead to the world
And now on her lap, the baby is placed
Her tender heart beams and unfurls

A tiny thing, and look at her skin
Eyes closed, the babe stretches and squeaks
A chuckle erupts and the woman smiles
She could hold this sweet baby for weeks

The woman then asks, “How much does she weigh?”
Her face just crinkles in laughter
A mere 5 pounds and 1 ounce, so tiny like a mouse
“Why she’s nothing but a bag of sugar!”

~© Bobbie Sandlin~



Another oldie but goodie lol. Sugar Baby is about my oldest daughter. She was SO tiny when she was born. My Grandmother, who was officially a Great-Grandmother with my daughter being born, was working at the nursing home and wanted me to bring the baby by. So I did, and I smile at remembering chasing her around as she took my daughter to various wings and departments, showing her off to the nurses and co-workers, and to the patients. There was one elderly woman who I still remember plain as day. It was such a surreal moment. She wanted to hold the baby, and my Granny carefully placed her on this woman's lap. I can remember how hard I had to work, not to cry. The generations that spanned between them, and this woman marveling at my daughter nearly brought me to tears. But we always joke with my daughter. She's so tall now, and to think she was a bag of sugar lol.

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