God spoke, and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?
Love made itself into hooks and bands.

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?
From the same box as the cherubs' wings.

How did they all just come to be you?
God thought about me, and so I grew.

But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought about you, and so I am here.

"You never made that song, Diamond," said his mother.

"No, mother. I wish I had. No, I don't. That would be to take it
from somebody else. But it's mine for all that."

"What makes it yours?"

"I love it so."

"Does loving a thing make it yours?"

"I think so, mother--at least more than anything else can. If I didn't
love baby (which couldn't be, you know) she wouldn't be mine a bit.
But I do love baby, and baby is my very own Dulcimer."

"The baby's mine, Diamond."