When I was younger I used to write poems, yet haven’t written one in years. Last week I was watching my sick three-year-old sleep on my chest and a poem came to my mind. I grabbed my phone, careful not to disturb him, and reunited myself with my poetic side.
I lie here, watching you sleep
Long, dark eyelashes brushing your cheeks.
Hair clung to a sweaty forehead,
Brown and blond, from mother and father.
Your days are filled with exuberant energy.
Testing, taking, controlling, misbehaving.
Your world is at your fingertips,
You crave to understand.
Tinkering with toys,
Tinkering with rules.
Loving the journey as best a three-year-old can.
You bring joy, you bring stress.
You are amazing,
Even as a pest.
But now you rest,
Sweet as sugar.
Peacefully filling my heart with wonder.
I will cherish these moments,
Think of them when you are awake and creating mischief.
Remember them when you grow old.
Soon the baby face will have stubble.
The voice will turn deep.
You won’t fall asleep on my shoulder much longer.
The love I have for you will continue.
Through the sweet moments,
Through the trying,
You are now and always.