I reckon the finest sight of all <br /> That a man can see in this world of ours <br />Ain't the works of art on the gallery wall, <br /> Or the red an' white o' the fust spring flowers, <br />Or a hoard o' gold from the yellow mines; <br /> But the' sight that'll make ye want t' yell <br />Is t' catch a glimpse o' the fust pink signs <br /> In yer baby's cheek, that she's gittin' well. <br /> <br />When ye see the pink jes' a-creepin' back <br /> T' the pale, drawn cheek, an' ye note a smile, <br />Then th' cords o' yer heart that were tight, grow slack <br /> An' ye jump fer joy every little while, <br />An' ye tiptoe back to her little bed <br /> As though ye doubted yer eyes, or were <br />Afraid it was fever come back instead, <br /> An' ye found that th' pink still blossomed there. <br /> <br />Ye've watched fer that smile an' that bit o' bloom <br /> With a heavy heart fer weeks an' weeks; <br />An' a castle o' joy becomes that room <br /> When ye glimpse th' pink 'in yer baby's cheeks. <br />An' out o' yer breast flies a weight o' care, <br /> An' ye're lifted up by some magic spell, <br />An' yer heart jes' naturally beats a prayer <br /> O' joy to the Lord 'cause she's gittin' well.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-fine-sight/
