Little patter of tiny feet.
I hear them in my mind.
A small inquiring face,
Appears gently by my side.
I can give no answers,
I only smile.
The pitter-pat returns,
To a bed growing cool.
He is restless tonight,
But I am here.
He waits patiently,
Puttering about his room,
Unable to commit to dreaming.
He knows I will come.
I listen out for dangers,
A mother’s ear posed and receptive,
But there is no worry,
Just a dance of familiarity,
Weaving in and out of time.
I rise and tuck him in.
A whisper of love and pride.
Sweet dreams now.
Our dance rests,
Until morn.