Here is the poem, promised in the previous post:
As a baby enters this life there is a confusion.
The world gives us an illusion
“I am theirs”; “They are mine”
It is said all the time
Looking deeper, reality unfolds
That those little hands that I hold
Have a far greater purpose to be
Than my eyes ever can see
They are God’s hands, God’s feet
That I hold so sweet
He gives them to me to keep for a while
To make my heart smile.
He allows me to have them to hold,
To shape and to mold.
But, in the end as they grow
Of my hands, they’ll let go.
It is only then I’ll rest sure
When, instead, they grasp God’s hands, secure,
My mission is done.
They and God are now one.
At the end of the day
Into the background of their life I will fade.
Knowing I was blessed by God for this time
To have them to call mine.