Tell a friend about the
Militant Breastfeeding Cult

The Dance

A cry, no, just a wimper barely heard --
it gently stirs the silence. Mother sighs,
and all is understood without a word.
She turns her loving gaze to meet his eyes.
A cry, now just a whisper in the air
is fading. Mother's kisses dry his tears.
A warm embrace surrounds with tender care
his life, and brings a peace, erasing fears.
A cry no longer, it's a sigh of sweet
content. His comfort is at mother's breast,
in mother's arms. Fullfillment so complete,
he sleeps -- soft cheeks, his eyelashes caress.
A smile now glows on lips still glistening
with mother's milk -- the silence listening.

-Heidi A. Little, MBCGuru

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