The ancient song is heard again by the infant laying low. Once more the age old melody is played. Sing, O world. O rivers, hum. O trees, shake your leaves. Wind and rain and sun and moon and all the stars above: Bring forth your music. A child is born. His ears have yet to hear it. O mother, coo and hold him close. How beautiful that pudgy, bloody face. Hold him close and let him hear the beating of your heart. It is the song he’s known.
Ring bells. Laugh and sigh. Life is here to hear the song.
Tale Told 