Truth Is... - Poem by Harry Haigh
A first glimpse of a newborn child,
Adapting to a different life.
A baby's smiling, wordless sounds,
Responding to a parent's voice.
The sweet smell of an infant's hair,
Held while raveling sleep's cobwebs.
A toddler's questioning, backward glance,
As a world's limits expand.
A youth's wide eyes and arched eyebrow,
For concepts newly visualized.
Unsung, unheralded happenings;
All these things, and many more,
Performed a billion times today...
And tomorrow, as before.
Comments about Truth Is... by Harry Haigh
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You