Remembering my small son at bedtime
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(with patient love, for Esbé and many mums!!)
Still now, quiet now, schlaaf gut,
after the frantic racing after a football,
and the joyous chasing after swirling leaves;
and then the happy splashing
in warm bathy waters,
with the bubbles blowing,
followed by jumping around, drying.
Then tucked in bed and reading
about the monstrous Gruffalo (who can’t hurt us!)
—we’ll beat him and bash him —
Then a reluctant quietening lullaby,
eyes closed, deep soft sighs.
Fine dark lashes droop as sleep tiptoes in; dear little one, how I love you.
Goldne Traüme...