He Calls Me Mama

There’s an angel in disguise -sleeping soundly in my bed,

sweet, soft, gentle breaths - escape - into the air.

How can I feel helpless, hopeless - or in the least bit of despair,

with such goodness resting - on my pillow, there?

Elbows, knees and ankles, chase me cross’ the queen-sized bed,

stealing covers, snuggling closer, to stay warm.

Ornery, spunky giggles - full of innocent delight,

troubles lurking, dissolve - right before my eyes.

He calls me mama, though he knows, that isn’t true,

somehow, Kelli - never seems to cross his lips.

But he never - ever wonders, if he’s loved or in the way,

because we cover him with, I love Grayson - kisses.

So, insomnia has company sometimes, on those restless nights,

when the moon creeps in to see what's going on.

Joining me in witnessing - an angel - sleeping soundly, sawing logs,

the well-disguised, adorable, ornery, bed-hog.