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.
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.