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Open Poetry #39
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poettothecars
Senior Member
since 2006-02-10
Posts 1093
New Zealand

0 posted 2006-09-17 08:06 AM


5702
Tiny Fingers

16 September 2006


That day you see the sun,
that birth of the child inside.
His hand upon your breast,
that first savour of mother’s milk.

His smile peering up at you,
where your eyes and his, chance glow.
A new day, a day you will never forget;
those tiny fingers, and little toes.

Where had that moment gone,
the one so hard to understand.
All those years nurtured,
every one for just an hour.

His sister, a match in pair.
Her smile like mother’s,
sweet, light and debonair

An Arizona summer,
a Californian, winters night
This child, your child, even our child
together a family taking flight


“And he came unto his father, and said, My father:
and he said, Here am I; who art thou, my son?”
Genesis 27:18 KJV
© 2006 Christopher W Herbert (a New Zealand Poet

a poet who cares


© Copyright 2006 Christopher W Herbert - All Rights Reserved
Margherita
Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236
Eternity
1 posted 2006-09-17 02:06 PM


... a family taking flight

beautiful expressions here.

Love,
Margherita

Earth Angel
Member Empyrean
since 2002-08-27
Posts 40215
Realms of Light
2 posted 2006-09-17 02:18 PM


"His smile peering up at you,
where your eyes and his, chance glow.
A new day, a day you will never forget;
those tiny fingers, and little toes."

~ Brought back the moments I experienced with the births of my two daughters. Thank you for that.

Loving Light
EA

sandgrain
Member Elite
since 1999-09-21
Posts 3662
Sycamore, IL, USA
3 posted 2006-09-17 02:24 PM


What can be more touching than a newborn baby?  The trust, innocence and dependence are mind boggling.  I'm always amazed how early they look us in the eye.  Nice  poem.

   Rae

poettothecars
Senior Member
since 2006-02-10
Posts 1093
New Zealand
4 posted 2006-09-17 04:30 PM


Yes, what could be more touching than a new born baby, of that I am yet to experience in my own life.

As to my source of inspiration, perhaps she is to be the mother, only right now I know I have been wrong in such thinking before.

To be the poet is to see what cannot be seen, yet make it be seen. And in doing so to understand the purpose of this art form often overlooked by mankind.  

a poet who cares

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