Deep down in the cosy cot, a wisp of hair you'll see
A small face lovely as a rose, and eyesclosed peacefully
A wee thing in a big dark world, a tiny helpless mite
Lying in the golden circle of the comforting nightlight.
Somewhere in the quiet house, there's someone listening
To catch the very slightest cry, the faintest whimpering
And though she may be busy, with a Mothers load of care
All her thoughts will hover round, the little one up there.
There's a hushed and sacred silence, brooding everywhere
You must ease the squeaking door, and mind the creaking stair
Nobody mustmake a sound, on tiptoe they must creep
When the word has gone around, that baby is asleep.
Copyright of Joanneac