The Young Madonna
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In my arms, I hold absolute innocence.
Dreams have not yet come alive, as they are being created.
A moving miracle, he grows into himself.
A bond that cannot be broken was put in place long ago.
I sang to my growing womb, and I shed tears on it.
I suffered no pain, but retain a single physical reminder of bringing him into this world.
He makes me smile when no one can.
Above all, he holds my heart in his sweet infant hands.
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© Heather Southerland, 2008-04-03
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Comments
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This poem is for and about my son. He's 8 months old, and he means the world and more to me.
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