Arielle.

Feather-light
and delicate,
her soft, soft skin
like Lamb's Ear.
My fingers feel too large;
I am afraid to touch
too much.

To brush her head of fuzz,
a little peach
of newborn pink,
I think if I would breathe
too deeply, she'd
blow away like
fairy dust.

Her sister's eyes
and puckered lips,
a two-year-old's sweet
adoration;
her baby teeth show
as she smiles
and nestles in to
cuddle up.

Soft miracles
come every day,
with little eyes afraid to open;
new light, and sound,
and sweet sensations
(like kisses)
form her baby world.

Something sacred fills
the room,
in hush-hush joys
of little people.
And though she isn't mine,
I thought I'd cry
for she is beautiful.

So fragile,
without words,
her little body moves
and settles.
Little Wonder;
Life's grown fonder,
and as she wakes,
a flower blooms.

February 13, 2010