Saturday, March 6, 2010

a lovely poem

A Little Tooth

Your baby grows a tooth, then two,

and four, and five, then she wants some meat

directly from the bone. It's all

over: she'll learn some words, she'll fall

in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet

talker on his way to jail. And you,

your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue

nothing. You did, you loved, your feet

are sore. It's dusk. Your daughter's tall.

- Thomas Lux

(photo via here)


  1. How thoughtful........ :) Hope you're having a groovy night :)

  2. What a lovely poem - thanks so much for sharing that! Hope you had a fab weekend honey xx

  3. this is such a lovely poem! happy tuesday dear!


  4. How cute! I really like that poem!
    -Missy May


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