This poem is about my beautiful new granddaughter.


Sleep, little child,

All seven pounds of you;

Oblivious to the commotion you set in motion,

Like Aristotle’s God, moving without moving.

They call you Wisdom

And that you are,

Holding secrets we try to unravel

As we try to penetrate your uncompromising stillness

Your quiet altruism

Makes us know better

Who we are

As givers of care.

Your silence

Activates our hearts;

Your tiny frame

Reminds us of our sacred duty to protect.

Soon you will forget

How wise you are;

But it is ours to remember

And to ensure that your promise is fulfilled.

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