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Taylor

The child sleeps wearily, her mind
running varily
As the dreams move her eyes and
in voice I hear her sigh.
Less than three still is she,
But her imagination full of
sensation.

Not one you think with words,
But listen carefully and she can be
heard
Telling how things are as she
sleeps in a land afar.

Too young for such thoughts,
From God they must be taught
With so many things all hidden in
her brain.

Blue eyes peering, full of life...
Blonde hair, smiling big and
wide.
To her a younger brother born,
Not sure to accept or scorn.

A prettier child you will never see.
A fuller mind there may never be.
A golden child so precious and
free...
A God given blessing, yes, that is
she!

(Jan. 3, 2006, shortly after the birth of her baby
brother)