He called me his baby
While he stroked my cheek
With a worn and calloused hand.
He called me his baby
When hugging me,
Ruffling my hair in the back.
He called me his baby
As he sauntered into kitchen
From a hard day of work.
He called me his baby
When threatening to shoot the
First boy to steal my heart.
He called me his baby
Whispering it in my ear as I took his arm
Leading me to my future husband.
He called me his baby
As he exhaled his last breath.
And when I laid the red rose down on his casket, it was only fitting that I would whisper back,
“I’ll always be your baby”
YOU ARE READING
My Attempts At Poetry
PoésieI am attempting to write poetry. Comments would be awesome, I hope you like it but I know I have a lot of room for improvement.
