Sonnet Of Motherhood XXVII
O, not alone I weave this miracle
Of glowing spirit from my body’s zone.
With every moment of the life unknown
You feed the glory of a growing cell.
All day I think of you, and night must tell
Dreams of my dreams unto your heart alone;
So, seeing you, I take you, O my own,
Into my child where first you wrought Life’s spell.
Dearest, as much as I, you breathe in pain,
Breeding yourself—your very soul from me
By look and sign, soft word and action strong,
And all you longed for in its form regain.
I am a humble haven where we three,
Father and child and mother, make a song.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
Added by Poetry Lover
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