There He Is...
Just look at the baby lying there,
by B. B. Watkins
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...