Standing on the threshold of today,
She casts a smiling glance
Brimming with expectant joy,
She pauses just a while,
Before she steps into
The promise of tomorrow.
Dark and night are left behind,
The play of light upon her face
Stir memories to life,
And once again are seen,
Her mother’s smile, Her mother’s eyes,
Her mother’s impish sense of fun,
Provoking much delight.
Streams of blessings overflow,
Directed by her mother’s hand,
Now clasped in Christ’s,
They pour from Him through her,
To this her first born child,,
Who scintillates in creamy lace,
And satin soft and white.
Myra D'Souza / 9th February 2012