Sitting by the window

in the pale moonlight

I rocked your newborn baby

as you prepared to go out

with a friend,

for you had the desire, the need,

to dance.

Barely over the birth process

you looked radiant

as you entered the room

wearing that little black dress

that I know, you swore,

you would never fit in again.

The music was playing and

you picked up your baby

and danced with her,

swaying to the music and

twirling her around the room

and I swear, I was never

as proud of you as I was

just then.

Fondly I recalled,

how once upon a time

this child’s mother was

that little girl of mine.

Then wiping the tears

out of my eyes,

bidding the past adieu,

inspired by you,

I got up, and I danced too.