Mom with sleeping child

When eventide approaches
and light of day grows dim
I tiptoe to my sleeping child,
to gaze in awe of him.

Curly head and dimpled cheek
so dear, in sweet repose.
Soft sounds of slumber emanate,
melodious dreaming, I suppose.

No word can speak, nor tongue may tell,
the love that swells my soul,
as moonbeams shine on his dear face
his virtues to extol.

How grateful and how blessed am I
to simply stop and stare,
and I, in tender vigilence
intone a mother’s prayer.

Bless my special little child,
and keep him safe from harm,
let other’s love him, as I do
protect him from life’s storm.

When the evening hour approaches,
and light of day grows dim
I tiptoe to my sleeping child,
to gaze, in awe of him.

– – – copyright 1997 Sally Meyer