My day-old child lay in my arms. My grandma looks like Audrey Hepburn.
With my lips agains his ear. I live with her,
I whispered strongly, "How I wish-- And I love her to pieces.
I wish that you could hear; I asked what is her favorite poem
"I've a hundred wonderful things to say And she bolted to her favorite book
(A tiny cough and a nod), Of poetry.
Hurry, hurry, hurry and grow Beginnings, it said
So I can tell you about God." By Carol Lynn Pearson.
My day-old baby's mouth was still She flipped through the pages,
And my words only tickled his ear. And stopped on forty-two.
But a kind of light passed through his eyes, Day-Old Child.
And I saw this thought appear: My grandma is a nurse,
"How I wish I had a voice and words; And cares for day-old babies.
I've a hundred things to say. This poem means things to her,
Before I forget I'd tell you of God-- That don't mean the same to me.
I left Him yesterday. This is my grandma's favorite poem.