Poetry 6.6

My babies 🤦‍♂️

They sing me songs
Like an early alarm clock
Cold morning steps
Bundled thermal layers hug tight
Misted breath, nipping fingers
Carry loosely the line
Extends and retracts
Legs bound, tongues hang free
Big ears stand alert then relax down
Press tight to their heads
Little faces sniffing for stray food
Return home
They curl up and smuggle to rest