Baby’s Corner

What is this undertow and riptide,

constantly tugging at my inner parts?

I want to laugh and sing and dance,

but a melancholy current imparts

quietness of spirit.


I remember dancing in the dark

as therapy and catharsis.

Is the wild and free so lost to waves,

So tossed between the artless

It cannot resurface?


My offspring dances unconsciously,

following the flow of sound.

I’ve forgotten how these limbs move,

but hope the good of yesterday redounds

on today…


on tomorrow.

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