Nursling

  He’s got this way of breathing

Shallow, hallow, still.

His fingers curl repeating

Tight’ning, fighting will.

His eyes are slowly closing

Drift up, drift down, shut.

His latch is loose and lazy

Mouth set, forget – up.

His forehead is now sweating

Sleep’s cue, due for rest.

My baby, he is napping

And he fills his mother’s chest.