By Design Poem by Burt Poole

Who can hold a baby in one’s arms and then dare to say,
That there is no God-creator who made a child that way?
Two eyes that stare in wonder when they look into your face,
Two little ears with which to hear and a tiny nose in place.
Two soft pink lips so tender, they nurse, they try to speak,
Tiny toes and fingers, each print of them unique.
A heart that beats with rhythm within the baby’s chest—
While the little one is wide awake and while the child’s at rest.
Then, there’s the brain, so marvellous, within that infant head—
The actions of the future within its cells are bred.
Now it’s used to store each impulse and also every thought,
With the wonderful potential to remember what it’s taught.
So, feel sorry for the person, who can see a baby’s smile
Or hold its little hands and feet or rock it for awhile,
Who fails each time to recognize, and cannot understand,
That every little, precious life the Master Builder planned.