Not so long ago,
I was so very small.
I could barely sit up;
I couldn't even crawl.
I'd lay limp in my father's right arm
without worry of danger or thought of harm
In the darkness
in the quiet hour.
While in stillness,
we see his power.
A beam of single brightness
through the black there is whiteness.
The beam so long yet, so narrow.
From infinity to infinity, an arrow.
The light passes by, not touching one single thing.
All is dark but for the bean and the hope it may bring.