Bless the mother, bless the child.

Miracles.  Beauty.

 

Look at their eyes, so amazed and watchful.

Look at the faces, shining like the brightest moon,

tell another story where nothing is hidden between them.

 

My joy holds proudly the highest achievement of its craft,

and moves a hand to brush a forehead to soothe, yes, me!

And absorbs more happiness bursting with radiance

that makes me glow with some of their beauty.

 

Who knew the power of love could increase

to overcome all odds that hint of shadow, making these hours,

this room, this house, the very world we live in a universe

with us at the center?

 

I marvel at the beauty, the unbroken completeness,

the art of the miracle.

 

 

Stephen Cipot

Garden City Park