They come into this world,
sometimes slightly blue,
usually crying,
and always wet and wrinkled.

They come without instructions.
We gaze at them, awed,
and come to realize
we will never be the same.

When they are crying infants,
we hold them, feed them;
trying to calm their fears,
we gently rock them to sleep.

We watch them grow and change,
sometimes stumbling,
often times tearful.
We try to shield them, often fail.

Life carries them away,
to live their own dreams,
out of the nest,
beyond our possessive, outstretched hands.

They go into the world
usually slightly scared,
sometimes crying,
and always, always far too soon.