You're not who you were.
You're not who you will be.
You're part way up your steep frail stair
And always will be.

You're a part completed work.
You're perfect as you are.
You're emerging as from aged oak block,
A part-seen piece of art.

You're a faint chime in the wind.
You're a symphony by Brahms.
You're an orchestra tuning up
At last night at the proms.

I love you as you are.
I love all you will grow to be.
As I hold you in my arms
Lost in your newborn beauty.