In the tinseltown of the motherhood
you are versatile Sophia Loren.
The sepia sunrise and baby steps
of time rock our cyclorama.
I moon over you in the late-night saga,
go gaga over your nimble fingers
handling our child's diaper,
whisper, "I shall never grow up."
The sets eventually fall apart.
Ages change. The script edits itself.
The tale tells the same.?