Dear Anonymous,
Rock-a bye baby / on the tree top. / When the wind blows / the cradle will rock. / When the bough breaks, / the cradle will fall. / And down will come Baby, / Cradle and all.
And that part of us, sometimes obscure and locked away, that part of each of us no matter what, that is mother, sits close by when the wind is up. With arms open. And a good catch.
No strings attached.
Socks? Coffee card? Hand warmers. Sure thing.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.