Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes

Today marks a year
To the day that I learned
Of your ten little fingers
And your ten little toes

Would your eyes be pale blue,
Like those of your father,
Framed by dark lashes
the mark of your mother?

Would your hair be dark
The color of night,
Or a blonde
Almost the color of white?

Would your skin be golden
Or almost  translucent
Speckled with freckles
Or flawless and perfect.

Would your face be flat and angled like his
Or a little more round- the mark of my kid?
Would your lips be full, or would they make one slender line
Would your smile hold a dimple nestled to one side?

Your laugh was one
I longed to hear.
I couldn’t a wait to hold you near

But awaiting you was a happiness short lived
Life has a way of taking away what it gives.

Analytical like him
Or creative like me,
It no longer mattered
. . . You would no longer be

No first steps
No first scraped knee
No first kiss
No first birthday wish

No hugs
No tears
No stories
No fears of the night

No bicycle rides
Or games under lights
No driving to Prom
No flights and no fights

Graduation day
And turning sweet sixteen
Are two special days
I’ll never get to see.

Your father of you,
He never knew
For you left before
I had a chance to tell him of you.

So tonight I mourn alone
Of our time much too short
Of ten little fingers and ten little toes
That I will never get the chance to know.

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