Our Son

On this day our son is born

Filled with life and blessed with charm

And the stately “Little Thing”

Has the stature of a king.

With a countenance fair and fine

He has entered into time

And he echoed forth a cry

As he bade the womb goodbye.

Doctors, nurses and the rest

Dressed up in their surgical vests

Could not there contain their glee

As they pulled and set him free.

Mother wearied with the task

Saw the son she bore at last

As she viewed the regal youth

“Oh,” she said, “My son is cute.”

It was glorious to behold him

And to cut his navel string

For that task that blessed my hand

Meant a deepening of our bond.

This great truth we now embrace

That we have a life to shape

And it’s neither jest nor fun

That ours’ must be a noble son!