Poems My Grandmother Taught Me

Lament

All my mother seems to do
Is feed the baby.
First she feeds him on her lap,
Then in the play-pen, maybe.
Then she puts him in the crib,
And you hear a cry,
Up comes another bottle
Before you wink an eye.
I wonder, could we trade our model
For a baby that won’t use a bottle?

~Dana B. Nelson

Author:

Husband. Father. Grandfather. Life enthusiast. Life coach. Commentator. Photographer. Capturing My world. Sharing My perspectives.

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