On the first day I met you, I marveled at your tiny hands and feet.
You cried and shook as I planted kisses on your cheeks.
On the second day, you gargled and waved, eyes still closed.
I watched through the glass, mirror an imprint of my nose.
On the third day you struggled, but fought like a champion.
Your fists clenched and unclenched, a new life's clarion.
On the fourth day I said goodbye, four days after hello.
Hello.
My son.
My daughter.
Hello, and goodbye.
Won't be too long until hello again.
