You are a nasty thing.
You came from someone else's mouth
and in my drink you're floating.
You look a bit like flotsam,
And maybe jetsam too.
Sometimes you're bits of peanut butter toast,
Or cheese, or fruit or stew.
When little babies want a sip
Of mommy's yummy drink,
We softer mommies cannot help
But give in, with a wink.
Because we know that learning mouths
To the beverage are returning
that which they tried hard to imbibe,
And thus, leave floaters churning.
Perhaps because these floating bits
Come from my darling girl,
they do become less offensive
when in my drink they swirl.
I see now standards for my fare
and for my drink do lower.
For only when from my sweet babes mouth
would I ever drink a floater.