Early-Morning Feed
The father darts out on the stairs To listen to that keening In the upper room, for a change of note That signifies distress, to scotch disaster, The kettle humming in the room behind.
He thinks, on tiptoe, ears a-strain, The cool dawn rising like the moon : Must not appear and pick him up; He mustn't think he has me springing To his beck and call The kettle rattling behind the kitchen door.
He has him springing A-quiver on the landing—
„For a distress-note, a change of key, To gallop up the stairs to him To take him up, light as a violin, And stroke his back until he smiles.
He sidles in the kitchen And pours his tea. . . .
And again stands hearkening For milk cracking the lungs.
There's a little panting, A cough : the thumb's in : he'll sleep, The cup of tea cooling on the kitchen table.
Can he go in now to his chair and think Of the miracle of breath, pick up a book, Ready at all times to take it at a run And intervene between him and disaster, Sipping his cold tea as the sun comes up?
” He returns to bed And feels like something, with the door ajar, ' Crouched in the bracken, alert, with big eyes For the hunter, death, disaster.
PETER REDOROVB
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