pomes

This is what happens, my baby, my love;
This is what happens, you see,
When you refuse your potatoes and meat
And subsist on . . . broccoli.

A moment's delight, a mealtime of pleasure,
Of face-stuffing, tooth-gnashing joys -
And then round about midnight, the baby wakes crying,
And making a deflating noise.

Her bottom is pink and her toes are red,
We've washed all the vegetables off of her head,
And now she is getting ready for bed -
O what a beautiful girl!

When you stand up in the bath
And hold on to the side
It's better not to jump too much
Lest the floor should slide

Remember that the water's wet
And you should be breathing air
So when you try to lick the plug
Please take a little care

The non-slip fish that line the base
Are there for your protection
They're not for eating, or for toys
Though they make good decoration

The biggest toys you have in there
Are parents, brave and true,
Reaching wildly through the waves
To catch a hold of you

Let me wipe your little nose,
And rub your little chest.
You can wipe it on my clothes,
I'm sure baby knows best.

Let me give you medicine
To cool your fever off,
Or maybe let me duck the spray
As it's spattered by a cough.

Let me rock you, crooning gently,
As your cries rock the street
And I grow frailer ment'ly
With every aching beat.

Let me hold you in my arms
As your nose and eyes are runny
So the smears of grime run down your face
And all across my tummy -

Let me feed you milk and water
Lest you dehydrate,
And let me clear your nose, my daughter,
In case you suffocate.

Let me cough myself but duck
So's not to cough on you
And let me sneeze and wheeze and blow my nose
From three am to two -

But let me first try menthol
On a hankie near your bed
So that maybe you can sleep it off,
This cold of chest and head.

Let me nurse you through this cold
And make you good and better,
Then I'll be ill in my own time
And we'll hope for better weather.