Analysis of Adeline

Oh, Adeline, what I would give to hold you in my arms.
To smell your newborn self, and feel your velvet hands.
Tiny parcel, seedling person, endless mystery you are.
I cannot stop thinking of what you could be.

Oh, Adeline, let me show you things I think are beautiful.
Look at the tasseled willows, the brawny oaks.
Look at the reds and greens and yellows of the trees.
Look at the clouds; feel the cold rush of summer thunderstorm wind.
Run across the grass; get your feet out of shoe-prison and get them green.
Smell every flower you can get your hands on; chase every bird; stare at every deer.
Stand under the stars; stand in the melancholy darkness of a cloudy night; stand in the dusk when the snow begins to fall; stand and see the endless beauty that presents itself.

Oh, Adeline, what names there are for you besides 'child'.
Potential embodied, beauty simplified, innocent fool.
Naive traveler, setting out with wide-eyed ignorance.
Daughter of men, woman in miniature, creation of Holiness.
Age's rival, nature embodied.

Oh, Adeline, I have held many lives like yours,
Held their warm bodies close to mine,
Rocked them long and soft until they found sleep,
Fed them food and watched it promptly leave their mouth.
I have wrestled tiny boys and girls, pretending that their fists were mighty and their battle cries were terrifying.
I have felt their spirits rise and fall, despite their lack of self-consciousness.
Though they screech and scream, I have tolerated them
Because they are too complex to simplify, too amazing to ignore.
To feel a baby's heartbeat steady on my chest is a depth so deep I have not reached its bottom yet.

Oh, Adeline, you are helpless, tiny, insufficient, and yet,
You are the most exciting thing I think I've seen.
I want to hear your jokes, your tears, your laughter, your words.
The worlds contained in you are unexplored and new.
Wild and untamed possibility is flowing from your eyes.
Who could ever simplify your existence to mere choice?
You are not a choice; you are an adventure waiting to be had.

Oh, Adeline, I'm sorry I will never see you.
Your mother will soon allow a man to end your short life.
Whether poisoned or speared, you will never see the sunlight.
Though I wish I could hate her, condemn her, condescend to her, I cannot.
The beam of wood in my eye is very similar to the beam in hers.
Adeline, we love momentary pleasures more than we love truth.
We love to have sex more than we love humility and sacrifice.
We love ourselves more than we love God, and though we pretend and pretend as hard as we possibly can that we aren't meddling with anyone but ourselves, we are hurting you. Because we do not have to discuss it with you, we can hide you in a dark corner of our minds and you cannot say a word about it; yet you are not gone. I am no saint, and so I cannot judge; and yet, I wish, I wish your mother could see what you could be. I wish she could see that the beauty of YOU is worth sacrificing for, working for, fighting for; you are worth the loving.
Oh, Adeline, I'm sorry I will never meet you. It would have been my pleasure