To Garrison

To some, a Garrison is a strong fort (Or troops encamped inside, an armed cohort). Or thoughts might turn to a centurion: A leader of the many soon to come. To Gwen and Garrett, he's the first-born son, A joyous melding of these two in one Small bundle: Garrett, seen in impish grin And forehead, twinkling eyes that come from Gwen. The honor that a first-born does accord: A brief, sweet time before ensuing hoards Disrupt the tranquil peace, the solo joys, Wrest 'way attention, break the favorite toys. To some, no, make that many uncles, aunts, A glimpse into their future, if perchance They choose the wedded way and have a kid, More niece and nephew Gs, heaven forbid! Of those who think he's grand, there is no lack: Big Daddy, Mimi, Gigi, Poppa Jack. For us, a chance to care for a sweet child, Return him home all sugared up and wild. A sweet aside, ’twas kidding, all in jest; A blessing that we cannot overstress: To help train up a child which way to go, To see God's work in him give blossom, grow. For midst the fun, the presents, and the cake, We pray, entrust his care unto the Son; Towards God's begotten, his steps soon will take, And stride there with endurance, at a run. ---------- On the occasion of Garrison's first birthday - he's soon to be 9 now! Found on an old file on the computer, wanted to get it in my soup collection...