If a  Boy As Yet Unborn


If a boy as yet unborn shall hear
Beneath his running feet the voice of sand
And rocks and shells proclaim a distant land 
To be his goal, his home, his fishing pier,

Then I'm content and do not fear the night.

And should the ocean run her fingers through
His hair, and toss him in her arms to find
Contentment in his joy, and say the kind 
Of trite endearing things that mothers do,

And should he pause to ponder love's delight,
And ponder,
Then I'm content.  

And should he lay upon the burning beach 
With sand adhering to his nakedness, 
And should the sun ignite with its caress
An eagerness for something out of reach,

And should he wonder, then, at all that light,
And wonder,
And wonder,

Then I'm content and do not fear the night.