Firstborn

They passes me the small, pink mass.

And laid him across my breast.

I looked into his eyes, held his tiny hand.

Delicate fingernails like paper-thin sea shells.

A little, warm soft body,

Smelling of happiness, nourishment and new beginnings.

I look into his eyes, and I know,

This is the soul of my soul.

I am home. He is my own.

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