She gazes back as I watch her face,
Making sure she doesn’t cry.

She seems awed by my singing,
Has she never been sung to before?

She was crying when I first came to her,
Poor thing, she was hungry.

But she was confused once I picked her up,
Who was I?

Her crying stopped, briefly,
Long enough for me to get her down the stairs.

Gently rocking her in my arms,
I soothed her as much as I could while preparing her dinner.

Pop! The lid closed easily,
Thank gosh—she was getting anxious.

We sat down in a big arm chair,
And I fed her.

We watched a little TV together—
Just to pass the time.

Then, as the sunlight faded from the room,
I decided the time was ripe for bedtime.

We relocated to the rocking chair in her room,
And I began to sing.

With her eyes wide and her mouth a gaping “O”,
She gazed at me, until her eyes couldn’t stay open anymore.

I don’t know any lullabies,
I don’t know exactly how to change a diaper.

I’m not sure what is in the formula I gave her,
I’m not sure whether I kept her up too late.

But as I sang,
“I’m the man who can’t be moved”
I knew I was doing something right.