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The Baby Stirs
 
When all is still
and human souls are sleeping,
then sing the crickets in the night,
while feral cats are creeping.

Somewhere in the distance
a curlew wails his mournful cry.
The baby in her cradle stirs
but wakens not; I breathe a sigh.

A small frog in the downpipe
croaks with booming echo.
He is answered from the rafters
by a tiny barking gecko.

Breeze through open window,
past casuarina sighs;
baby stirs again, four hours since dinner;
whimpers, then at last she really cries.


Share with me the music of the night.
God is in His heaven,
with the world, all is right.

By cherryk

© 2018 cherryk (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: FreeVerse - The music of the night (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: FreeVerse - The music of the night (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: FreeVerse - The music of the night (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: FreeVerse - The music of the night (challenge has been closed)


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