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
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