Lauren you are little,

but you won’t always be.

I can still remember

that time when  you were three. 


I came and sat beside 

your bed–I’d dreamt that you 

had drowned. 


I wanted to make sure 

that you were safe and whole 

and sound. 


Now I wake up in the 

morning and hear your fingers

play–whimsically but steady–

they always find their way. 


My baby you are growing, 

it’s hard to say though true.

But when I hold your sweaty

little hand inside of mine


I know the time for growing 

is not done. My dear, we’ve still 

got time. 


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