The waters will still ebb and flow,
the moon still pull the tide,
but nothing could be more naturally so,
then the tears from a mother's eyes.
They start the day your child is born,
when first he's laid upon your breast.
In spite of pain from muscles worn,
heart strings tug your chest.
Tear drops fall from sleepy eyes
and trickle down your cheeks.
You listen as your child first cries
for your breast, which he seeks.
Time has passed; the pain is gone,
a bonding has taken place.
You look upon your little one,
the tears still on your face.
Just once more you look at him,
'fore you lay him down to sleep.
You reach out for a kiss on a whim,
knowing your heart is his to keep.
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(This is not a rhyming poem, but one of prose.)
SUMMER BIRTH
Restless, rolling, sweating, unsleeping,
I mentally try to push
The waters will still ebb and flow,
the moon still pull the tide,
but nothing could be more naturally so,
then the tears from
The Day You Were Born
The sun bowed her face to your birth,
and the stars sighed while you slept.
The man in the moon
The pain went far and I went along
I tried to walk but could hardly stand
I watched as my son was born
Love builds the bridge
And
A mother's joy
A girl or boy
Maybe both
Maybe more
Is what's in store
A father's pride
A grin as wide
As a harbor's mouth
A family
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Poetry: On birth
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