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Page 2 - 10.26.2025

Mrs. Winslow's Lullaby
In the amber bottle, shadows steep,
A syrup dark as children's sleep,
Mrs. Winslow's name in faded gold—
A remedy from days of old.
The label peels like weathered skin,
What secrets does the darkness hold within?
A spoonful sweet upon the tongue,
For feverish babes and restless young.
They say she mixed it in the night,
By candlelight, away from sight,
With laudanum and mystery,
A potion wrapped in history.
The mothers came with crying babes,
And left them silent, draped in haze,
One drop, two drops, the eyelids fell,
Into a dark, narcotic spell.
How many children drank that brew?
How many never quite withdrew?
The bottle sits on dusty shelves,
A relic of forgotten selves.
Mrs. Winslow's watching still,
From that label, cold and still,
Her syrup sweet, her promise deep—
Come now, child. Come now. Sleep.