Born With Love Poem by Charlotte Ballard

Chose a feeling,
Still slippery wet
From it's mother's womb,
Cradle it gently
And sing sweet lovelies
Until the words come.
Trembling ones
That toddle precariously about
At the edge of your consciousness.

Nurse with pen,
Diaper with paper.
A still, quiet heart to
Hear the silent coos
Of perfect phrase.

Wait too long
To nurture the child
The child, now grown,
Will stride off with giant steps
With only the faintest remembrance
Left cluttered about.