B. B. Watkins

(Maplewood, NJ)

There He Is...

Just look at the baby lying there,
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.

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