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Miss, that child in your womb
Will tomorrow be born
Into life from the dark
With a cry like a storm,
With two eyes like the sea
In midsummersapos; eve light,
With a heart soft abeat
As it was yesternight.

He will sing of his sorrow
Like the lark sings of joy;
Heapos;ll give and heapos;ll borrow
Like the wind, yes, your boy.

Dusty paws will leave prints
In the grass and the snow;
Beg the moon listen well
To your prayer ere you go,
For the pale baby born
On the warm, sterile hearth
Is thought greater by man
Than the wild, ageless Earth.

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