ploughman’s lullaby

I try to till the furrows in your brow,
but can’t unearth the root of your distress.
I press you to my neck and let you cry
and hope that comfort soon will blossom there.

I plant my feet and rock you side to side;
I plow ahead in my attempts to soothe.
Your teardrops fall like rain on seeds of doubt –
I wither as I fail to ease your pain.

I dig my heels in, harvest my resolve
although your sorrow grows like noxious weeds.
I’ll sow your ears with hushes soft and low
and hold you ’til sweet slumber you can reap.

Blank verse for the yeah write May poetry slam

4 thoughts on “ploughman’s lullaby

  1. You wrote this with such beautiful imagery and made the act of trying to calm a fussy, crying baby eloquent and poetic. Bravo! My youngest had colic, and I remember all too well the struggle to calm him. You captured the “withering” and the determination so well. ♥

    Liked by 1 person

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