Tiny One

Tiny One
How very often I have dreamed
A world of perfect bliss
To be the mother of a boy
Or of a tiny miss.
To hold its tiny hands in mine
To count its tiny toes
And then to place a tiny kiss
Upon its tiny nose.
To hold it very close to me
Warm against my breast
To gaze into its tiny face
Sleeping and at rest.
Oh, what could be more perfect
Or what could hold more bliss,
Than to be a mother of a boy
Or of a tiny miss.