By: Wendi Whitchurch
As I watched the baby fuss and shake
He tries his best to contemplate.
Just how he can set himself free
From the tightest grip of his mommy?
The airplane’s packed, it’s time to go.
I think the plane is filled each row.
The people patiently sit and wait,
But for this baby it’s too late.
He wants to rest upon his mom,
But he is buckled and it feels wrong.
Just how her baby will get to sleep,
With so much noise but no relief?
Just then the plane begins to leave,
It’s almost time to catch the breeze.
The baby cries, the people pray,
Until the plane proceeds to raise.
“What is this feeling?” The baby’s eyes,
Begin to look with wondrous surprise.
His arms go limp, his body’s shape
Lies flat upon his mother’s drape.
“What is this feeling?” I look at him.
Why did he stop his fit and grin?
It’s gravity, before my eyes,
That makes this baby stop his cries.
He’s sleeping now. No sign from him,
That he’s upset, nor does he grin.
His parents rest, no more anxiety.
For God has helped His son to sleep.