His 8-month-old baby lay beside him in a dirty car seat.
The baby lay on a bag of flocking in the corner.
A very young baby, covered with blood, lay beneath her.
One baby lay still with a Bible perched open next to his arm.
In good morning light, the baby lay on the examining table in the back room.
The baby lay on its back, its eyes wide open.
A service of angels descended to the spot where the baby lay.
Somewhere, just down the street, the sick baby lay crying in its crib.
Most of the bleeding had been while the baby lay on his left side.
The baby lay in my arms, a heavy, warm weight, the center of the universe.
