Flying Baby

A poem.

Flying Baby A baby sits quietly
 on his mother's lap,
 frightened and calm,
 weary and curious,
 beloved – and so – loving.
 Old ladies struggling
 with irregular carry-ons spot him
 like a star on the horizon.
 Passing by, each one
 touches the baby's head
 with detached and utter
 affection, sparks of God.
  C. Malcolm Ellsworth

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