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WHEN YOU WET YOUR CRIBwhat was it like when you wet your crib,when you angled to one corner to dry?I knew your message of motion without words,your poking fingers, and toes through bars,because crying was not your style,nor was it mine.we looked at each other and smiled,not saying the words of love.we likened our family gazingto sagas of nursery rhymes gone by,the singing and sing-songs,the humming of old words forgotten.and now I hear your cell voice,from distant shores, seaside,those sounds of you compressedas thoughts of cherished times,safe inside my treasury,and pray your new crib is dry.