My baby was born on a Spring day. The very earth a celebration of her. The April sun shines longer for her. He hurries to rise, making preparations and lighting her day before she rises. Blooming into the open morning, he kisses her eyelashes, her nose, and spreads warm over her day. Then lingers into the evening, carefully putting away, ray by ray, her cherished light.
The ground swells for her. Thick, sweet stalks of newly greened grass rise up for her. Flowers in every shade of her favorite color bend toward her, competing for her smile. Heavy tulips and gentle daisies dreamily dance to the song of her laughter. And just above and from all around young birds flutter and coo. Warble and whistle. Streaks of red wings in the sky while clouds drift by like creamy white balloons.
And I marvel, once again, that this is all for her.
My baby was born on a Spring day.
XOXO
The ground swells for her. Thick, sweet stalks of newly greened grass rise up for her. Flowers in every shade of her favorite color bend toward her, competing for her smile. Heavy tulips and gentle daisies dreamily dance to the song of her laughter. And just above and from all around young birds flutter and coo. Warble and whistle. Streaks of red wings in the sky while clouds drift by like creamy white balloons.
And I marvel, once again, that this is all for her.
My baby was born on a Spring day.
XOXO






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