Posted: May 12, 08 10:18am
Now, the baby had been born,
Tom Kit was his name.
His hair was
rugged brown.
Tom Kit fell
many times
in travels
on Cradle farm.
He studied himself
looking back at him,
as he dropped
a slow toad in a puddle.
He stole the ants
from the slate,
while they where busy
in their work.
He pulled
the cat’s tail,
not knowing
she owned it, as it brushed
by his nose one day.
Young Kit flushed red hens
from the coop,
and wondered
why eggs broke when he stood on them.
He watched his father,
on a tractor, ride a cloud in the soy,
the birds found
food in the stir he made.
Tom felt
warm hands
find his neck and squeeze his ears.
Mother was his
ocean, and he fell back into her.
Tom Kit slept,
while the cat caught her breath,
and the ants
marched to the oak.
The little heart
kept a beat next to hers,
a twitch,
a peep,
Tom Kit sleeps.
Hayward 05
