On Her Eighth Birthday

(For my Loving Daughter Suzanna Christy)

Seven years before her heart throbbed and mine too,

She was prepared to face to the world with God’s Gift:

Her travail had begun and each of her nerve shivered with thrill,

The Father in Christ in His invisible Presence hath been beside her.

Now I shed tears that speak how she had borne the physical agony,

And my inward eye writes how the day was and today it is.

The tiny blossom within the womb shook the stem of the plant,

And the plant stood fluttering, unshaken, but withstanding.

I now feel how I felt of her personal ordeal for matchless Gift.

God’s Answer in her womb, personified, traversed the way out,

The Invisible Christ held her in His arms during the journey,

It was the journey that none can describe except the Answer in the womb.

Biological apprehensions began to fly out with anguishing threats;

Yet the Heavenly Providence filled the way with His Grace.

Medical engineers acted upon their wit and tools to watch the drama.

The God-sent soul, anxious and hopeful, waited for the little wonder:

‘How could God’s Answer personified be?’

Time was on its wings, minutes flew, seconds galloped.

Engineers’ assistants exchanged responses of sincerity and hopefulness.

The little Answer personified whispered from within the Heavenly Mercy.

Everyone heard the whisper, and the mother too, and she would be a mother.

The clock was in its perfection to chime the melody of the Answer,

And the whole world, dressed in joy and smile, looked in awe and wonder.

It was forty strokes behind the entry of the little Answer:

How could I share my joy and with whom?’

The mother raised a doubt within her.

‘I am with thee, share thy joy and pain with Me,

For I have borne everything for thee on the Cross.’

She heard a voice within and the pain left her,

Joy let its wings fly when the little Answer peeped out the world.

It was seven strokes yet to chime.

Each second was a mystery and the mystery was to be solved.

The trumpet raised its clarion call; the lyre touched its strings,

The firmament, filled with Heavenly Blessings, began to shower on.

The little Answer personified sent forth her first cry,

And the cry was first heard by the Master.

Yes, she was born, and she entered the world.

It was fifty-two strokes past three whistles she was born.

Little fairies began blowing little trumpets,

The mother shouted in joy: ‘THANKS TO MY LORD!

Our answer hath been heard. Thou art my Master.’