Nature's Touch

by Robert W. Service

In kindergarten classed Dislike they knew; And as the years went past It grew and grew; Until in maidenhood Each sought a mate, Then venom in their mood Was almost hate. The lure of love they learned And they were wed; Yet when they met each turned Away a head; Each went her waspish way With muted damns-- Until they met one day With baby prams. Then lo! Away was swept The scorn of years; Hands clasped they almost wept With gentle tears. Forgetting hateful days, All mother mild, Each took with tender praise The other's child. And now they talk of milk, Of diapers and such; Of baby bosoms silk And tender to the touch. A gemlike girl and boy,-- With hope unsaid, Each thinks with mother joy: 'May these two wed!'