Make me the melody of meeting palms, <br />The roundelay of little running feet. <br />Strike me a measure to a trembling sweet <br />Of the mouth’s laughter and the fingers’ psalms. <br />I know of music in the ocean calms— <br />A siren singing where the long tides meet. <br />I know of lyrics in the leaf’s long beat, <br />But the child-chant is symphony of balms. <br />Sing it to me. O, sing it to my blood… <br />Through chord and fibre of my being run <br />The liquid quavers, and the pause and turn <br />Of every note in its seraphic flood. <br />Sing on that anthem of the sea and sun <br />And the deep dreams that in your being yearn.<br /><br />Zora Bernice May Cross<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-of-motherhood-viii/
