There He Is...

Just look at the baby lying there,
Eyes tight shut in first repose;
A harvest of so much time and care,
Reaped, at last, in birthing throes.

How strange this sense of initial meeting
With someone as yet so very unknown;
Untouched by previous glance or greeting
Yet bearing the seed of inheritance sown.

We hesitantly seek a familiar trait,
Some tenuous link to bind us fast,
Trying to absorb this spawn of our wait,
This mint-fresh being of an ageless past.

No layer of prior perception here;
We truly are seeing him just as he is;
An innocent babe with future dear,
Just starting forth in this world of his...

by B. B. Watkins

Other poems of B. B. WATKINS (2)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.