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)

4 comments:

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

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

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

    xoxo,
    andyquirks.blogspot.com

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

    ReplyDelete

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