Robert Kirkland Kernighan

(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

At Night - Poem by Robert Kirkland Kernighan

Ah, yes, I miss the baby,

My little cherub bright ;
I miss it always in the day,

But miss it more at night.

It used to sleep upon my arm,

In quiet slumber there ;
One hand upon my neck, and one

Was smothered in my hair.

And now I wake from troubled sleep
Long hours before the dawn ;

The empty bed I fevered search,
To find that baby 's gone.

The weary days are full of tears,
But with the waning light

I stand beside my plundered bed
I miss it most at night.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, May 14, 2012



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