by Kathleen Richardson

Created on: June 25, 2008   Last Updated: July 05, 2008

Rock-a-bye baby,
in your cradle of calm.
Daddy's gone hunting,
hoists red, white and blue bunting*.

Storms rage round till
Humpty Dumpty falls down,
into the dense bush.
Dust clouds increase
as medics gather piece by piece.

Put father together and then
he'll never look the same again.
Who's that heading back
via Landstuhl, Andrews,
and Ward 57?

Daddy went hunting,
came home a new man.
Cry, baby bunting,
Who's that rocking your cradle of calm?

(*When writing this poem I was thinking of the nursery rhyme where bunting refers to a baby's "sleeping bag". It seemed symbolic to combine the colors of the American flag with a father's last thoughts of his baby in his arms, wrapped in a blanket. Later, I found in Wikipedia.org that bunting can also refer to "a lightweight cloth material often used for flags.")

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