The path has been difficult
Certainly to become more so,
In spite of its being said that it is down hill from here
The parasitic mass:
Your energy, your sleep,
Your peace of mind, your body as you have known it
All of this I claim as my own
To share with no one
I, the as yet indeterminate one
Why give this, your life,
For the presence of another?
For a return of joy.
Soft pink flesh demanding still more
Receiving most necessarily, however, what only you can give.
What you will give freely and with untold pleasure.
How to measure a mother’s love?
This poem was written to my son’s mother about 6 weeks before his birth. This is a reprint, upon which I hope to have improved.