THE LITTLE CHILD

Picture Courtesy: www.mydearlydeary.blogspot.com


Jet black hair,
In near linear braids,
Festooned in ribbons,
Picture-perfect,
Nature’s mathematics,
Symmetry,
The master’s artistry.


Glowing face,
That blissful spring,
Journeying farther than the Nile,
Enchanting,
Guileless,
My undenial.


Inch perfect smiles,
Calculated,
From ear to ear,
Fits like a glove,
Tiaras and crowns,
Divine,
Perfection,
That ray of shining light.


Welcoming eyes,
Awakening within your soul,
A sea of perfect calm,
The scent of starched iron pressed,
Egyptian cotton thread perfect sheets,
That tranquil sound,
Untainted peace.


Tiny fingers,
Softer than soft,
Palms,
So white,
Like David’s psalms,
Clear as day,
Little,
Yet so big on perfect,


Glowing far out into the distance,
For countless miles,
The eve of spring,
Yellow daffodils,
White roses,
Perfect blue wind,
Ever so pure,
Allure,
My beguile.


Shaky steps,
Your humble beginnings,
On seesaws,
And swings,
You barter with time,
Giggles and cries,
Nature’s unshakeable pride.


Patterns of speech,
Imperfect,
In growing tears,
Yet even in imperfection,
You tower unblemished beauty,
The height of perfection.


Sunny joy,
Grass,
Beauty evergreen,
Beaming radiance,
Soft and flowing,
That perfect song,
Like a bridal gown,
Comfort in one’s skin,
Only when a child.


The growing child,
Meek and mild,
A newborn lamb,
Clad in woolen joy,
Childhood years,
Untarnished innocence,
An almost godly magnificence,
That near perfect existence,
Nature’s absolute,
Perfection,
The little child.