The Meeting of Distant Worlds
By John Herlihy

The baby is sleeping in its cradle in the early morning hour;
What would anyone see there, but a flower in earth’s bower.
The baby looked up into the map of the Grand Mufti’s face;
The Mufti looked down upon this picture of amazing grace.
The fallen angel takes in the sober visage and feels sound;
The face of the sage held a stern command most profound.
The baby falling into a dreamlike trance of stupefied awe;
The old man’s heart sank as if this the first baby he ever saw.
The infant snuggles within his embrace seeking protection;
The Mufti cradles the baby in his arms with clear affection.

The baby’s face urgent and tough as it writhes and wiggles;
The Grand Mufti’s face breaks open into a series of giggles.
The expectant infant probed the face seeking its future told;
The wise old man saw the baby as a bouquet ready to hold.
The baby looks up now as if it the entire world understood;
Once again the Mufti’s face peers down like a block of wood.
Pudgy baby fingers reach up stroking the beard on his jaw;
The old man tickled the baby’s soft belly with his gorilla paw.
Furtive love tracked them from behind like a homeless dog;
Hush, sweet baby, the Mufti whispered, setting fire to a log.

In his head, the old man wondered if he were ever that young;
The little baby looked about half expecting a song to be sung.
The baby now locked onto the light of the Mufti’s face, dreaming;
The old man smiled and whispered: It’s not what you’re seeming.
Finally, the baby saw the world staring back in mute introspection;
The Grand Mufti saw his dreams in the baby’s luminous reflection.
The baby seemed good at reading the parchment of ancient maps;
The old man recognized the baby’s desire for adventure perhaps.
For one brief moment, the baby had righted the Mufti’s world;
For one brief moment, the Grand Mufti an old banner unfurled.

In the meeting of young and old, new worlds had begun to unfold;
Sparks, like infinitesimal stars, ignited mystery never before told.