I'm watching the trees shudder under a gentle gale;
Birds chirp, swerve hop line from line.
This day you were born,
A single small pink hand raised!
Lips parted no longer suppressing a wail.

Now come of age you're still beside me.
Your hand has outgrown mine and now -
you take steps -  crawling like infancy across a battleground,
Your eyes are shut now; you are safe and sound.

- N.C.