Breastfeeding,  Motherhood,  Poems

Nursling

  He’s got this way of breathing
Shallow, hallow, still.
His fingers curl repeating
Tight’ning, fighting will.
His eyes are slowly closing
Drift up, drift down, shut.
His latch is loose and lazy
Mouth set, forget – up.
His forehead is now sweating
Sleep’s cue, due for rest.
My baby, he is napping
And he fills his mother’s chest.
 

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