The baby is living, the baby is born.
So beautiful, though no jewelry adorn.
Love and emotion upon the babe heaped,
Like a warm blanket within its embrace to keep.
Years pass, the babe grows up tall.
Learning from anguish, getting up from each fall.
Seeing the good in too many a thing;
Impossible to choose which beauty to sing.
What good is the mountain with no soul to gaze
On each blessed thing God Himself caused to raise?
This poem may seem somewhat morose, which was not my intention. To engender hope was and is my intention, with this poem and with the rest of my poetry as a whole.
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