“A Mother’s Reflection,” Ensign, Apr. 1987, 31
The dawn had just begun when first
He breathed the breath of life. His infant cry
Rose up to greet the morning star, as
Sunrise colored the eastern sky.
Then warm, and rubbed with oil, he slept.
His entrance to the world had left him
Weary, ready for a quiet, dreamless
Sleep. Dreaming is for Mothers—
Especially the day a newborn finds it way
From God into the world, and to her arms.
What will he be—eventually—this small bit
Of humanity, so like his dad in miniature—
A wisp of soft dark hair above his tiny face?
God colored him adorable, and that he was—
Alert and tender wise—not only as a babe
But through the years of childhood, youth,
And now a man with peaceful, loving heart.
I dreamed of many things when he was born.
And of them all the best came true.