"May Saadeh" is a doctor of medicine. And before "May" became a doctor, "May" was a poetess who loved poetry, composed poetry, and lived in an atmosphere of poetry. It seems that medicine has not made her forget that she was a sensitive poetess: the poetess's feeling in her breaks loose from the mother's heart, and she composes this poem on her little child "Taqola."

And we thank Dr. Saadeh for setting apart for "The Woman's Voice" this noble, sensitive sentiment.

"The Editorial Pen"

The little child Taqola Abdallah Saadeh, son of the two doctors, Abdallah and May Saadeh.

The happy feast has come — take my wishes,

O my son, for they well up from my heart.

Hanna came and became the crown of my head,

and you, my son, have become my scepter.

Upon you two I have built a beautiful kingdom

in which hopes are soldiers, and wishes too.

Your mother has fed upon your love

as you two feed upon the milk.

Were my eyes denied all the world,

I would have in you two what suffices me.

Between you two tomorrow I shall strut with pride,

and the beautiful women will envy me when they see me.

God created us of dust and water,

but you of the smiles of the beautiful.

Oh, let me ransom with my soul that little mouth

from which the smiles well up at every moment;

let me ransom it with what runs in my heart,

for in it is the blood of the daisies.

Softer than the breeze it appeared at morning,

and gentler than a love-verse of Ibn Hani.

And I alone understand all its prattle,

while everyone else needs an interpreter.

And your eyes, into which nights

have been poured, and your love — they bewitch me.

The light of God shines upon me from them,

giving me life and making me forget my very being.

If my hopes are lost in all but you,

my hopes are safe within your love.

Every woman you gaze at loves you;

you lead their hearts without a rein.

Tomorrow, when your generous heart becomes

a nesting place for flocks of pretty girls —

oh, be gentle with your mother; do not leave me

searching in your heart for my place.

I come back to hear the melodies flow on,

and to watch your two little arms embrace me.

"Nuha" says: wean him — do you not care

for your figure? All eyes once looked at me.

It is little, that I should ransom him with my figure

and my face; for beauty, my little son, is fleeting.