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The Eighth Wonder

Chubby toes, arms flailing

in awkward desperation as I cradle your

squirmy body close to nurse. I

trace your smooth face and earnestly search for

traits of your father.

Maybe it is your deep gaze that causes my soul to long

for things this world cannot offer.

Or the gentle coos of Word made flesh.

There is so much more

To you than I understood.  

I am shaped in your image. And yet you grew in mine.

Your presence is truly

too substantial for me to carry and

so close I can snuggle the cheek of God.

Poetry posts every Thursday at 7 pm . . . except when I am enjoying Christmas company. Blessings dear readers!

Published infaithpoetry


    • Karisa Moore Karisa Moore

      Thank you Tony, pondering Mary’s first days with Jesus has been eye-opening.

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