“First Born Son - Wynn”

A rush of sunlight in the early morn,  
He came to us—our firstborn son, called Wynn.  
In trembling arms, a world gently reborn,  
A quiet strength with laughter tucked within.

A tuft of hair like golden summer wheat,  
Eyes wide as rain-washed skies in April’s dawn,  
He clasped our fingers, perfect, small, and sweet—  
A symphony of hope from dark withdrawn.

We watched his steps unfurl across the floor,  
A stumble, then a sprint toward open doors,  
The clatter of his dreams upon the boards,  
Each “Mama, Dada” echoing through walls.

He maps the world with every earnest why,  
Collecting pebbles, feathers, stars—  
He spins his stories ‘neath the cotton sky,  
And names the moon, outshining every scar.

Bright Wynn, whose laughter rings in every room,  
Whose shadow grows beside the garden rose—  
You are our springtime, harvest, and perfume,  
The faith beneath each fear that ever grows.

May courage twine its root around your days,  
May wisdom water all the seeds you sow;  
Firstborn and precious, loved in countless ways—  
Wynn, you are the wonder we now know.

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