Tiny One

Tiny One

How very often I have dreamed

A world of perfect bliss

To be the mother of a boy

Or of a tiny miss.

To hold its tiny hands in mine

To count its tiny toes

And then to place a tiny kiss

Upon its tiny nose.

To hold it very close to me

Warm against my breast

To gaze into its tiny face

Sleeping and at rest.

Oh, what could be more perfect

Or what could hold more bliss,

Than to be a mother of a boy

Or of a tiny miss.

By Elizabeth Anna Fetters (Pachella)