Little Miracles

The tender heart of a child born is but a pounding muscle mass Void of love that later grows and fills the heart so fast The gentle hands of the reaching child seldom ever find their mark Until they find that familiar face of their mother in the dark The seeking eyes of the new born babe see not the face before But knows the voice, that grows the love and always offers more The babies born unto the world, though not knowing, do bring much For they are little miracles, that from us bring loving touch