My first born child, my sweet—you are a dream,
A gift as grand as any heaven bestowed;
And now a woman grown—how can it seem
That you sat on my knee not long ago?
In you I see your mother, through and through,
That gentle strength that angels softly dressed;
In her I saw, and now I see in you,
The best that truth and beauty ever blessed.
But now, a woman pure, your time has come
To take your place within this wondrous world,
To sing aloud until your song is sung
As you leave every victory flag unfurled;
And when one day in arms you hold a child—
May thoughts return to me, for just a while.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.