It's curled up, grays on blacks,
tiny head merging into tiny body,
a music note waiting to be sung.
Only months to go before the river of red
carries a crying child through the reeds—
reach out and pull it in,
sing it your love and pain and joy.
Watch as it grows into its own melody,
dances through phrases, creates its own form.
Can you see it, in this still image,
all the magic that stems from a moment,
all the countless songs that play
from a few chords?