Parenthood is like a rhyme,
like how a bloom of blue depends
on the strength of roots entwined,
like how we’ve started counting time
in the blur when our dreams blend
and parenthood begins to rhyme
with each newborn milky sigh
and with each stretch when naptime ends,
like water for our roots entwined
that keeps us stretching like a vine
even when the skies are darkened
by storms that roll the rhymes away —
back to the start, when we were seeds
who would have thought our boughs would bend
on the strength of roots entwined
and bear the fruit of such a rhyme?
#Parenthood
#Mothers Day
#
Poetry
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