ROCK A BYE, BABY

"I love you, Mother," the daughter said,
As she gave her mom the doll,
The white haired lady sweetly smiled,
"How nice of you to call."

Then two withered arms reached up,
To receive her welcomed treasure,
The wrinkled face was radiant,
Which revealed the lady's pleasure

"Rock a bye, baby, in the tree top,"
Came a gentle, quiet voice,
The lady sang to the baby doll,
The daughter's eyes grew moist.

The daughter patted the mother's hand,
"Who are you?" the lady asked,
"I'm your daughter, Mom ... your baby,"
But, somehow that thought slipped past.

The lady's brow tied up in knots,
As she searched her tired mind,
"No-o," she said, "I don't think so,
This baby here is mine."

"Rock a bye, baby, in the tree top,"
Again she cradled the doll,
And again the daughter's eyes welled-up,
Because her mom could not recall.

"Rock a bye, baby, in the tree top,"
Odd how her mom remembered that song,
Yet she didn't know her own daughter,
Strange how the mind moves along.

"Here," the lady smiled and said,
"Here ... you can hold my doll,
Just for a moment ... she's mine, you know,
I wouldn't want her to fall."

The daughter carefully took the doll,
And smoothed its little dress,
"Don't fret, Mom, I'll take care of her."
Then she hugged it to her breast.

"Rock a bye, baby, in the tree top,"
The two voices sang together,
The daughter took the mother's hand,
Now lighter than a feather.

"I WANT MY BABY BACK!"
The mother grabbed for the doll,
And the daughter, caught off guard,
Couldn't help but let it fall.

The mother dissolved into tears,
She cried and sobbed; her shoulders heaved,
"There, there," the daughter soothed her,
Then the dolly was retrieved.

"It's okay, Mom ... don't cry,
See ... your baby's not hurt a bit,
She's just as good as new,
Still in one piece ... and fit."

The mother took the dolly then,
And hugged it, as she rocked,
Her tiny voice sang out once more,
"Rock a bye, baby, in the tree top,"

The daughter rose; it was time to go,
She kissed her mother and the doll,
The lady smiled, "Oh, must you leave?
How nice of you to call."

The daughter sat outside the Home,
For a long time in her car,
"Oh Mom! Oh Mom! I miss you so!
This whole thing is bizarre."

She pounded on the steering wheel,
"God! Why put my mom through this?
It isn't right! It isn't fair!
This is not the way she should exist!"

I don't suppose the daughter knows,
Her pain is greater than her mom's,
Who, in her little dream-like world,
Does not know what's going on.

There's a closeness of a child with God,
That for many adults has disappeared,
Thus a childish mind in an aging soul
May be God's way of drawing near.

Maybe the daughter can't reach her Mom,
But rest assured, God can,
"Rock a bye, baby, in the tree top,"
God's cradling Mom in His hands.