That he was beautiful,
love’s most holy writ.
That he was the world in small,
and she loved it.
That he had undone death.
That he would be her joy.
That he would grow more beautiful
as he became a boy.
That he was grace in human form
and paradise to hold.
That he smelled like eternity.
That he would not grow old.
That he was heaven’s gift,
dressed in flesh and baby clothes.
That he was wholly beautiful.
What every mother knows.