Sonnet 249

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 be
That you sat on my knee not long ago?
In you I see your mother, through and through,
That gentle strength that angels fairly 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
And 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.

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