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)
How thoughtful........ :) Hope you're having a groovy night :)
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely poem - thanks so much for sharing that! Hope you had a fab weekend honey xx
ReplyDeletethis is such a lovely poem! happy tuesday dear!
ReplyDeletexoxo,
andyquirks.blogspot.com
How cute! I really like that poem!
ReplyDelete-Missy May