Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Happiness is . . .

a warm newborn snuggling to your breasts

cooing sound with every suck

and just happy to be with you

and in return

you can't think or possibly immagine anywhere else you'd rather be

even though the dishes and bathroom could use your attention

as long as the two year old is happy prancing around

you are content to stay with baby, lying in a sunbeam, cooing and breathing together.

1 comment:

Soleil said...

Beautiful.
Beautiful poem.
Beautiful baby.