A Crafty Babe Poem by sylvia spencer

Mummy loved me once and held me to her breast
It was soft and warm as my tiny head buried itself
into her vest. Her nipple was soft and her milk was
supreme, but all that is gone or was it part of a dream.
Three months I suckled her warm soft milk, that went
down my throat like the texture of silk. Now I am lost
and that feeling is no more, because Mummy put me
on the bottle which I find such a bore. I have to suck on
a thing which is called a teat, and that to me is like suckling
my Fathers feet. Mummy said it was only for a test
but it's been six whole weeks since I even saw her breast.
I cry at night, but she never understands she just cradles
me and strokes me with her hands.Then in goes the bottle
and I start to spit, surly she must know I want the tit.
Then daddy starts to shout and causes a riot,
I have now got the tit so I'll be quite. My mummy
has to do this time and time again, because the
milk from the bottle never taste the same. It's rich
and thick and always makes me sick and if every
baby was put to the test, I am sure they would know
what milk is the best.