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Created on: April 20, 2008
He came to me, ahead of his time
And I knew we faced an uphill climb.
Anything but hearty and hale,
He was tiny, wrinkled, scrawny and pale.
Not due until April, he came three months early -
My God, his arrival caused such a great flurry.
The outlook, for him, was horribly bleak.
His cry was pitiful - thin & weak.
They poked & they prodded & did all their tests
Until neither he nor I could rest.
With tubes and needles they trussed him up,
Then gave me a drink from that bitter cup.
His lips were tinted the palest blue
Because the air could not get through.
Problems, they said, with both lungs & heart -
Defects, they said, of the gravest sort.
I picked him up, my last-born son
And wondered what wrong we'd either done.
Against my heart I cradled my baby.
His future, at this point, a long-shot; a maybe.
Twenty-eight hours he fought a brave fight -
An endless day and a longer night.
Minutes as hours, I tried to see
What this babe, if he lived, could be.
I saw him first as a growing child -
Friendly, happy, a little bit wild.
I saw him later, as he was in his teens,
In cowboy hat, boots and faded blue jeans.
In my daydreams he looked so like his dad.
I have to admit it, I cried and was sad.
A good-looking man; tan, tall and thin
With blue-green eyes and a heart-stopping grin.
His held my finger with weakening grip
As from this world I watched him slip.
Heartbeat erratic, his breathing grew slow
As I kissed him & loved him and watched him go.
I'd buried my husband a month and a day
Before I sent our baby his way.
I know that he'll watch over and love him for me
Until in the future them both I will see.
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Poetry: Ahead of his time
by Sherry Law
He came to me, ahead of his time
And I knew we faced an uphill climb.
Anything but hearty and hale,
He was tiny, wrinkled,
by Gary Maclean
Ahead of His Time
He was walking, when all
Around him they were crawling.
He was speaking when the
Others were still bawling.
He
He was a man ahead of his time
A spirit untamed
A heart run wild
I met him as a child
Loved him as a woman
Bore his sons
And
by DL McCulloch
He spun tales to me,
a child at his knee.
Sitting rapt with awe,
I would see what he saw;
the world so large before me,
as his
Ahead of His Time
Conceived
Growin g into being
Unplanned in the heat of passion
Forced through power uncontrolled
A child ahead
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