Gentle infant, ordained by nature a part of me, not mine.
Curled over my breast in repose.
Put in my care for nuture, trusting my maternal instinct.
Silken strands caress my face nestled warm against my cheek.
Breath, soft against my skin, in gentle rhythm, sighs.
Snug contentment welcomes sleep.
I stand so still, entranced.
Echoes of the past haunt me.

Helen (Nanna)
Christmas 2002