I see a Lakeside meadow,

where trees do whisper sweet,

Of the coming of a blessing.

The sound of little feet.

From the murmur of the ocean,

to the music of the birds,

The message spread is BABY. . .

The sweetest of all words.

The scent of pine in autumn,

completes the time, and hours. .

God will bring our precious baby,

from His world. . .into ours.

Priscilla E. Rose Wyatt