Along the road to baby came demands
That needed met, the first a task for Dad.
“A chair,” she cried, “A rocking chair to cuddle,
To coddle our babe at suck so innocent!”
At first the thought had led to chuckling mad;
The wife was looking for a time machine,
To carry back the two to days gone by.
The next weekend I let her pick her throne.
From those brown boxes I built her the past,
An image of a rocking mother pleased,
Within her arms the newest girl asleep,
And dreaming thoughts of trees asway at dusk
Or maybe seeds afloat along a stream.