by Sarah Earlene Shere, ©2023
(Apr. 28, 2023) — Little Ida leaned on my chest the tousled curls of her head.
We listened to the birds outside as we sat upon her bed.
“Lis’ close,” I urged (she held her breath), “to all those chirps you hear.
See, that is mother bird who calls for her brood to come near.
“It’s time for bed, but they refuse. Hear how they chirp so shrill?
But mother, she insists; she knows they understand the drill.
“A song? A tale? Can they have just one before shut eye?
With a sigh, their Mum gives in with just one lullaby.
“Lis’ now their chirps have become soft. Do you know what they say?
Why they have all settled in, and now it’s time to pray.”
I gazed upon the little face asleep against my chest,
Then tucked the child with a kiss and prayed for her sweet rest.