Spit-Up
My shirt is splotched with spit-up,
Though my shoulder sports a burper.
My clothes are like a kingdom
And my grandson's the usurper.
He drinks his bottle, gives a burp
And then, without a doubt,
A quarter of what just went in
Comes, like a fountain, out.
I really do not mind, but learned
My lesson, truth be told -
When I'm with Henry, what I wear
Is faded, frayed or old!
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2014
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