Poem: A dream of little fingers.

The night comes with it gloom
Brings dreams of my outstretched arms,
That long to touch, to hold,
To brush a forlorn tear.
To skate, to fuss with tiny little frocks.
So gentle yet firm to coax
Four restless feet to rest.

Where eyes yet gleam with dwindling light
And eager ears sharply spike
To soft whispering delight
Which tell of made up places,
Adventure and sidestepped traces.
Though arduous unrehearsed
Before frivole deserves
The strained tale often serves
For want of cherub rest.
Softly cuddled in their nests
Giggling eruptions happily turned
To hushed tranquil breaths.
The sound of a dismal hoot
The faintest evening chirps
The close of day affirms.

I hover yet a moment
A mother's heart appeased
That reverie regarding captures
Sleeping babies warmly tucked
With dampening of dark ringlets
Draws blows of affectioned draught.
Though sweet but painfully ladden
The dream reality gets
It spurs the heart to hasten
To fly from idle pacing.
And yet to solace seek,
where little fingers peek.

~  Mabedie ~