To a Precious Young Mother, with Love

To a Precious Young Mother, with Love                          September 17, 2013

O' precious angel, may I inquire of your soul,
Of your heart, of your mind, 

How you would teach that babe so?
Of the humanities which are true

And his future dalliances so obscure,
Of how you shall construct your babe's countenance,
His convictions about God as pure?

I seek the pleasure of ascertaining your knowledge,
Of walking many a mile in your shoes:
Knowing, of course, I am but a man, not a mother;
Ergo, I have not the maternal instinct.
You are the fairest of your sex,
And I, but a fool, watch enamored at you two.

The babe is the covenant between you and Our Father,
A contract upon which you agreed to abide

As the better half who birthed a creature so pure
That he sees the angel Gabriel circling the skies 'round him,
Calling from the rooftops of the world, "God is my strength."

So long as he knows, so shall you, too, deal,
Never shall you fold wings and wither away.
My ardors for you and the young babe, too,
Shall span the sands of the hourglass
Till past the last of the Seven Trumpets' blasts,
And we are called Home at The Lord's behest.