Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

There's a baby boy in a crib.
He's cried himself out.
Nobody's come for him
in such a long time.
He looks up at the mobile
of colourful birds
hanging above his head.
Just out of reach.
Blowing in the breeze,
they seem to be trying to fly away.
He tries another minute or two of bellowing,
but it produces no results.
No mommy comes running.
He's all alone.
He whimpers,
shudders,
closes his eyes and sleeps.
Over in the corner,
Mom smiles,
rolls over
and settles down for a
well earned, afternoon nap.

I guess many a mother has felt like doing this at some point ever even if she never actually did it. Captured well.

The terroriost went to his war
with a scream borne of gunfire and gore
from his babyish lung
-- from sin's origin -- flung
to the mother who'd only adore.