Baby Blanket

   The dream fogs forward.
   We're weeks away
    from grand baby to be,
    plums barely clinging to the branch.

    The ocean, a little further than
    the next door rooster, breaks on the beach
    morning after morning, anticipating footsteps
    as our family strolls.

    The math of compassion adding up,
    the little ones make us larger.
    Passing down humor, songs,
    and curls, decades away from going grey.

    God has no grandchildren, the one thing
    we can pity. The smallest finger
    He'll ever feel in His hand

    is ours.
Will SchmitComment