Monday, April 28, 2014
I named you for the thing that brings me most joy. Smart, am I, even in my accidents.
So I don't surprise; light when I see you, in wake and in slumber, the warmth of you resting beside me is completion.
What thrill! I, unwitting gardener, tend to your growing years knowing as I do that you ease away with every season.
Still there is no more for me; this is what I am for.
And glad, glad, more than filled am I with gladness at my fortune.
Do I thank you, you ask?
In every breath and blink
I am thankful
you are my baby.
Posted by A Writer, Of Course at 2:30 PM