Thursday, February 17, 2011
by Jim Rapp
We’ve started a collection of great-grandchildren,
A second is on the way, I hear, soon to arrive.
It makes me remember those days when
Chris arrived, the first grandchild of five.
His little “Hi”, with falling final tone,
Exactly matched his mother’s.
But now that he is fully grown
I hear the accents of his father.
I wonder at the force that guides selection,
That draws the streams together,
Undoing Babel’s sad confusion,
Bringing, blending, far and near together.