The streetlights bounce across the quiet room
White, stark walls gleam a ghastly hue, and you
My dear are growing. Your veins, so small and blue
Will one day course with blood, and I assume
You will have sable curls, and chocolate eyes,
Soft rose-bud lips like Daddy--button nose
like Mommy; cheeks that blush a golden rose
And a slow smile that will give butterflies.
But sadly faults you will also receive:
A fiery temper and a heart too bold,
A longing to NOT do what you are told
And many times will you cause me to grieve.
Yet you will win over my heart, my dear.
You will be worth more than my fearful tears.
