i would die etcetera

Another Ezra shot, and another poem. Please forgive me, for I am smitten.

To all those who've always been left a little cold by the challenging art of poetry, seriously, dig out some e.e. cummings and have a think about how much fun you can have with form and convention when you throw the rule book out the window. One day I am going to be very, very brave (stupid etcetera) and publish one of my very own poems on this here little old blog.

Until I work up that courage (or work on those poems), you'll have to make do with shots of babies and some old favourites.

[my sweet old etcetera]
e.e. cummings

my sweet old etcetera
aunt lucy during the recent

war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting

for,
my sister

isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds)of socks not to
mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers
etcetera wristers etcetera, my
mother hoped that

i would die etcetera
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my

self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et

cetera
(dreaming
et
cetera, of
Your smile
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)

[As an aside, can you throw a party at ONE WEEK OLD?!?]