I hold this baby girl,
my Goddaughter, the one
they have nicknamed, Pinkie,
and I tuck her as close
as I can against my heart, I
smell the soft smells of innocence
and I ache, Lord, how I ache,
so hard I think my smile
will break and fall onto her lashes.
Were she to be mine,
I would ask for nothing more.
The moon, I could ignore, I’m sure,
the sun would rise and set
only in her reflection, my beloved
ocean would pale in her
perfection, and every star above
would be taught a new lesson
in love -
she wiggles in my arms,
yawns a tiny ‘o’, untying the pink bow
of her lips, raises small fists up
into the air, as I stroke down a wisp
of hair that will someday, if she is lucky,
never frizz like mine in heat.
I count the niblets of toes on her feet,
kiss the roundness of her cheeks
so plump, so sweet,
like the apples in her daddy's orchard,
and when it is time to let go
I know I will have whispered a thousand
"I love you's"
'til I am with you again.
Adding your comment:
I remember when they were born.. sigh...
).
