is hard to come by.
It is not planted, nor watered.
Not bought or bargained. It is not
designed or built. It is not even
dreamed. No eyes; shut or
wondering, can predict
breath swinging with
mother looking down. The
tandem which has become the
joy of existence. That which births
this euphoria, though still tender, has
already softened our hearts. You,
my dear little one, are the source
of my joy. Faith called through
the dark and your light; bright,
marched with the rhythm
of life; Life that lights
to come by.