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)

Somewhere

Somewhere lit by the rising sun,
expecting the day that has not yet begun.
Somewhere warm with fresh dew drops,
and trees with blue birds on their tops.
Somewhat alone and feeling cold,
thinking of you and being old.
Somewhat scared, and slightly lonely,
dreaming of the "what if's" and "if only's".
Somehow peaceful and full of charm,
a quiet night void of alarm.
Somehow at ease and feeling content,
at last knowing what God had meant.
Something is throbbing and consuming the rest,
swelling and tearing inside my chest.
Something is growing as the sun sheds its light,
I cling to my legs and make farewells to the night.
Sometimes it's unique and overwhelmingly beautiful,
and other times it's tarnished and rather dull.
Sometimes my heart weighs heavy with the pain,
sludging and searching through the rain.
but...
Somehwere there's peace and brand new light,
a new morning conqueres the night.
Somewhere the sun doesn't shine as bright,
a place without you, tonight.