As he snuffles and snuggles and feeds from her breast
he is quite unaware of his mothers’ unrest
With his sweet, milky smell and his slip shiny skin
he has no hint at all of the evils within.
Sweetly smiling, the mother wraps up her young son
and carries him home, where the horrors begun.
Sly digs and quick prods when the boy makes a sound
Pinching and slapping when no-ones around.
My dear! What a beautiful baby you’ve got!
cry the uncles and aunts as they peer in the cot
But when they’ve gone home and the babe is alone
they don’t hear him whimper, they don’t hear him moan
They don’t see the bruises, his mother’s discreet
she keeps his clothes clean and the house is so neat
But when, one cold morning, he breathes his last breath
He’s another statistic, another cot death.