Though it won't be
Soon,
Soon there will be no noise
But the noise of look-at-me tears,
And feed-me tears,
And clean-me tears,
And love-me-fully tears.
And I will be
Useless to the cries,
Unable to intrude.
Soon there will be
Not one high-chair but two,
And cabinets overflowing with baby food.
I'm not ready
For the flood.
Because I am not ready
To explain,
As if I were speaking to a dog,
That this love takes time to grow.
And that soon,
My little sister, my battery of joy,
It will be time for me to go.
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