Hair like corn-silk Long-lashed eyes,shut in sleep. Tiny body, curled into my lap. Is this the destructive imp Who’s broken the window blinds, Smeared cake all over his high chair, Who’s peeled a banana Then eaten it sideways, All mushy in his hands? His new words, Often parroting his older sister, But getting clearer all the time… They whisper themselves in the ears of my memory As I look down on the little waif, The glow of whose halo of innocence Sheds its gentle light on me As I sit in the dark room Having sung, and rocked The little one to sleep.