Wicked Air Currents - Busted Babies


My cradle’s hoisted high aloft,
Atop the nearest oak.
Placed there by my sister,
It was meant to be a joke.

Then barometric changes caused
My tiny bed to sway;
And molecules at odds within
The branch began to fray.

The bed and I just dangled,
Like in cartoons, in the blue;
‘til gravity remembered that
It had a job to do.

My limbs, and the tree’s, began
To see a lot of action;
Knowing that the crib and I
Would both wind up in traction.


Who the hell thought this kind of stuff would comfort a child and help put them to sleep?





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