Mothers milk

In the night, she heard her crying.
A piercing scream, like someone dying.
She flew to the cot, and stole up the child.
Into her arms, like a wolf in the wild.
She rocked her forth, and then rocked her back.
To calm her down, a mother’s knack.
To soothe the tot, and know her needs.
Like when to rest, and when to feed.
A natural setting and lovely sight.
A mother and child, together at night.

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