Robert Kirkland Kernighan
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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