Under the billowing canopy
of your self-made throne,
safe from harm you sit,
legs drawn up, toes wiggling,
ash-blonde locks constantly
falling over your eyes,
simmering down after
a day full of excitement.

One sticky hand holds
your toy car in a death grip,
while the other grabs
little slices of pear
I had to cut just so,
chewing happily, unperturbed
by sweet juice running
down your chubby chin.

You’re my personal lodestone,
irreversibly drawing me
into your bubble of happiness.

 

© november child
photo credit: Wikimedia commons
in response to Mindlovermisery’s Menagerie Wordle # 146 ‘March 13th, 2017’
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