I was going through my old scrapbook this week, and it was obvious from what I had written at the time that the early 80s were not exactly a happy time for me.
I remember writing the following. It was 1984 and I had resigned myself to the fact that it was unlikely I would ever be a natural mother. The local news reports were also of a young mother who had recently lost her baby and taken one from a shopping complex.
This is a work of fiction and I have never myself been in such a position.
Pretty dreamer, look at me,
With your eyes of smokey grey,
Tell me where your mind wanders
As in your cot you lay.
Curious dreamer, where do you go,
When darkness surrounds your head,
Tell me the wonders of your dreams,
Tell me through thought, words need not be said.
Those eyes, how bright they sparkle,
Bewitching in their gaze,
What do you see in the shadows?
What focuses through the haze?
Beautiful baby, please look my way,
Trap me with your eyes that shine,
Enchanting in your innocence
How I wish that you were mine.
Don’t whimper as I lift you,
And lay your head to my breast
Against the heart that’s beating
So wildly in my chest.
How good to feel your closeness,
How gentle your breath on my cheek,
To take you would be so easy,
But not give the Peace I seek.
Dear Baby, Sweet Dreamer, True Darling,
“Mother” is a title I lack,
So with a heavy aching and longing heart,
I must sadly put you back.