Wednesday, March 16, 2011


To see something so pure,
How could this child possess any form of sin?

She follows, with you alone atop her stage
It doesn’t matter the task at hand
Her vision never wavers from you
Every minute detail contains the mystery of life,
And her infatuation soon infects you too,

Giggling and speaking in the strangest of language
The most mundane routines
Are the pinnacles of comedy, where laughter is loud, long and deep,

The love of being is everywhere with this one
Everything is a special present
And she wants it all, to taste, to feel, to touch

To think she shall become just as jaded
That she’ll become corrupted like the rest
But with infants, this is exactly one of the things
That makes them so perfect,
They are symbolic of hope,
A hope this tiny person will be the one to rise above it all,
With the widened lips and puffy cheeks,
With the sparkling of those little eyes,
In her that hopes remain alive.

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