The Miracle by Michael Anderson

There is a majestic quality In every one for all to see Some keep it hidden, some never realize The magnificence they hold in others eyes. Ah, yes. Life itself is the gift. Though the memory, itself, Time doth sift. And some might think the reverence goneAs those we love one by one pass on. But the intricacies Fate doth weaveIn commemoration for all who grieve. Are the blessings given to rebirthFrom souls no-longer of this earth. At first notice I come undone, My father starting at me through my son. But, now, in joy I ascertainThrough him, my father lives again. I look to heavens resounding graceRenewed appreciation of life and my place. Knowing as each newborn child opens their eyesThe miracle continues, no one really dies.