Monday, 5 May 2014


 My son lies sprawled in sleep; pink cheeked and arms akimbo.
No longer sullen teen,with glowering look and muttered moan;
 but a small boy once more.

 In sleep he transforms; tranquil and at peace;
 the sound and fury of the day forgotten.

As I gaze upon his sleeping form, the strain and toil of battled wills is all but erased;
 in its place the memory of sweet milky breath against my skin
and tight coiled fist curled round my thumb

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