The Morning Called Monday

Twas the morning called Monday
And through the commune
Not a person was stirring,
Except Bailey boo

“Milky”, she said
I pretended not to hear.
“MILKY, MILKY” she cried.
So I got off my rear.

She drank her milk
So silently and still
She’ll go back to sleep
I’m sure of it, I feel

But as soon as she finished
What did I hear?
“Wordy, Wordy, Wordy”
Right up in my ear.

“Daddy Tooted” she said
“No dear that was a snore
Now go back to sleep
We don’t get up at 4!”

Then fast as lighting
I felt her on my back
“You weady Mommy”
Hop, hop, then crack.

She hopped on my back
Then fell to the bed
I giggled at this
“Go back to sleep,” I said.

“More Milky” she asked
“No, No, not more”
“Milky”, she cried
And I walked out the door.

With milk in hand,
She played with my ear
My angel went to sleep
My sweet little dear.


By this time,
It was 5:38
I must get up!
I can’t be late.

Most mornings are like this
I cannot deny
But I cannot ignore her
Even when I try

I turned back around
And looked at her face
How could we not adore her?
Our sweet Bailey Grace.