The Last Child

Creak creak creak, old rocker speaks,
slowly I stroke a silken cheek,
nestled close we quit the day
and boundaries seem to melt away.

This child who fills my heart so full
has late begun to feel the pull
of other things, and other dreams,
so soon, so soon–too soon it seems.

Creak creak creak, old rocker speaks
to tender, melting night,
for now I’ll keep tomorrow out
and hold my wanderer tight.

mother and child


About boomergirl47

Retired from the University of South Florida. Love reading, writing, hiking, nature, music, birding, puttering around the house and yard.
This entry was posted in children, emotions, family, human interest, love, mother, nostalgia, poetry, relationships, sadness, spirituality. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to The Last Child

  1. Sweet, and such a pity about time 😉


  2. boomergirl47 says:

    Thx, Steve. I wrote that in 1987, and it’s a bit saccharine, but I still remember that squeaky rocker and that sweet child like it was yesterday. That baby turned 33 yesterday!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Patricia says:

    Just sent this off to my baby girl!


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