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She looks so frail, at first, I dursn't stir.
An' then, I leans acrost an' kisses 'er;
An' all the room gits sort o' blurred an' dim…
She smiles, an' moves 'er 'ead. "Dear lad! Kiss 'im."
Near smothered in a ton of snowy clothes,
First thing, I sees a bunch o' stubby toes,
Bald 'ead, termater face, an' two big eyes.
"Look, Kid," she smiles at me. "Ain't 'e a size?"
'E didn't seem no sort o' size to me;
But yet, I speak no lie when I agree;
"'E is," I sez, an' smiles back at Doreen,
"The biggest nipper fer 'is age I've seen."
She turns away; 'er eyes is brimmin' wet.
"Our little son!" she sez. "Our precious pet!"
An' then, I seen a great big drop roll down
An' fall—kersplosh!—fair on 'is nibs's crown.
An' still she smiles. "A lucky sign," she said.
"Somewhere, in some ole book, one time I read,
'The child will sure be blest all thro' the years
Who's christened wiv 'is mother's 'appy tears.'"
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