​Set my gaze upon my children.
Give me the weight of their being, oh Lord,
And impress upon me the gravity of their eternity,
That I would fear withholding any good thing from them more than I would fear my own death,
That I would be eager to do and give them as much good as I can while we both shall live,
That I would shower them with love more than and before I shower them with money,
That I would give vulrnerability more than and before I give critique,
That I would pour over their ears pleasant wisdom more than and before I pour over them bragging facts of subjects I love,
That I would cover them with love and kisses more than and before I cover them with expectations.
That I would model for them providence and hard work more than and before I model foe them success.
That I would surround them with laughter and nature more than and before I surround them with toys.
That I would take a deep interest in their gifts and weaknesses so as to praise the former and forgive the latter.
That I would turn my eyes to them when they speak to me.
That I would listen with interest.
That I would champion their successes and simply be a present support in their failures.
That I would have discernment and wisdom for when to speak and when to be silent.
That I would be last in order to be first,
That I would be weak so as to be made strong,
That I would bow down to be raised up,
That I would follow in preparation of leading well.
That I would honor and thereby find my honor.
Thay I would give and thereby always receive.
That I would labor to make them in your image and not mine.
Set my gaze upon you, oh Lord,
And impress upon me the holy idea that they belong to you.

A word well-placed,
Your gaze with flame,
Sweetness outpoured,
My lap is your resting place.
A finger tipped to my leg,
Your pinky hooked with mine,
Our bodies one.
A palm as we pass,
Slight or passionate, 
Even the public display is a private language we speak. 
Friendship renewed,
Through text or incarnate, 
Touch is love and love is touch.
Your dinner date legs pressed against my knee,
Your head nestled on my chest,
Arms wrapped and embracing something beyond love.
Lips in their own dance,
Laughter-soaked air,
Humble prayer at meal or close of day. 
Each one a touch, 
Each touch a paint stroke,
This love's landscape unmatched, 
Brought to life,
Given colorful life,
Touch by touch. 

There is joy in the strain
When the seed bursts forth
Seeking light from the darkened sod
And preparing its stalk for fruited weight.

There is peace in the pain
When the Samaritan lifted
With his goodly hands
And gave from his own pockets
To house and feed the roadside lame.

There is delight, some even say fun,
In the hard-walked Path of climbing a hill,
Whether rain or shine, If we trod pavement or dirt.

The seed had the fruit within it.
The Samaritan had God's love inside.
The heart told the blistered feet
The destination was worth the ache.

And every strain I feel
On this beautiful path
With you is joy
Because it is you
I get to have by my side.

​I'll be the seed, if you are the fruit.
I'll lift the lame if your love is the inn.
I'll journey the rugged terrain
If you are the end.
There is joy in the strain,
Only when that joy is you.

by Brian G. Daigle
​
I watch appear in garden rows 
The fresh growth of our love. 
Your eyes are light. 
Your laugh is air. 
Your love, water from above. 

And when I think the vines are surely overgrown with life, 
You give a word, 
A touch, 
A jest,
The presence of a wife. 

by Brian G. Daigle

The form of love in feminine frame
Beheld and given a glorious name. 
My love she beckons, her love she gives, 
My love she ignites, invigorates, and tames. 

The sight of you in silhoutte lines,
A grace to eyes and heart and man's mind. 
My gaze she holds,
My heart she molds,
Our love she informs, enfolds, and entwines.

by Brian G. Daigle

If morning mercies had a woman's smile, it would be yours. 
If morning dew gave a woman's kiss, it would be yours. 
If Dawn's rose finger were on a woman's hands, they would be yours. 
If the daybreak's wonder spoke a woman's voice, it would be yours. 
If ambition and passion could awaken with a breath, it would be yours. 
If the joy of a single day could stand on two legs, it would be you. 

by Brian G. Daigle

What are bright? Sunrises and smiles.
What are busy? Bees and ant piles.
What are happy? Children and flowers.
What are gifts? Friends and hours.

by Brian G. Daigle

There sits a light upon a hill which shines from east to west.
It wasn't there more recently, but now it gives its best.
It shines upon the old and new, it pours forth heat and light.
It brings what's hidden to my eyes; it gives a hopeful sight.

A companion for a traveling soul, and feet that wish for home,
A beacon from some peaceful town, with the likeness of my Rome,
This light inflamed by greater Light, was made apart from me,
And if I covered heart or face, a fool I'd prove to be.

I cannot help, though lights I've known, to see the value here,
To pause my tracks and gaze up toward, until my feet draw near.
But burdens rest on traveled backs, and fires made ash before.
And yet the pureness of Lucy's heart does heal and does restore.

​I will love this light so long as it's here and brightens all I see.
I will wait upon that greater Light to know if this light is for me.
And yet whatever comes beyond, if this light passes sure,
I'll wish each light in front of me to have a love so pure.

by Brian G. Daigle

Angelic grace with Eve's own form,
A message come down to earth,
A word of hope to end a storm,
Transcending for love's new birth.

The fullness of friendship never so clear
And never have graces so spread 
Than in her eyes and from her lips
And flowing like gold from her head. 

The purest of joys I find within 
And a treasury far beyond this.
Home in a face, a touch, a grin,
And light from the gift of a kiss. 

Her nearness a honey, a rose, a river. 
Her presence a sweetness, a beauty, a guide. 
If ever Love's hand did mercy deliver
It's surely each time she's here by my side. 

Mercy delivered and always on time,
Never to tarry or dampen its voice.
If ever Love's hand did with flesh make a rhyme,
It's verses are you. Your virtues, Love's choice.

Let Solomon or Coesus bring forth greater goods 
Than what mercy has here delivered. 
No storehouse contains nor palace could hold
Your beauty, a liberation and tether. 

by Brian G. Daigle

Present appearing in beauty's form 
Blanketed over life's close storms. 

Present but no shadow or shade,
With sun above to guide what's been made.

A closeness wished, and vulnerable songs, 
Though previous clouds have drenched with deep wrongs. 

Present indeed, and courage for here,
The courage for now, for love to appear. 

More stories to tell, more stories to make,
With paths now merged, more pathways to take. 

But a present will be when her presence is near, 
And with every new present, new joys to see clear.