Can we get there by candlelight?

Can we get there by candlelight?

When babies are really little,
They sound like lambs.
Waking up groggy at the
Hospital, to baa-ing,
As the nurses wheel the little
Babies, all in plastic shoeboxes,
Out to the mothers to nurse.

He was so little – wrinkly little-old-man hands,
When he first nursed,
Kneading and dancing the fingers
With oh! tiny, sharp nails,
As he gazed solemnly, steadily,
Right into her eyes.

Now, his fingers, grown, have slipped
Through her wrinkled grasp.
Gone, gone to Babylon.
All her teachings
Gone for naught.

Betsy McKenzie, June 28, 2007