Your head in the crook of my neck,
How you tried to hold it up,
My hand on your back,
The softness of your hair,
The weight of you transferred from within,
To where I would carry you
Until your own legs would
along the rocky ways,
Where stumbling stones
always impede your path.
When you were born,
The snow lay deep,
Up to the tops of our bins,
No doubt even higher,
If you went higher up.
Full moon bright,
The Midwives expected lots of births that night.
The sound of the hum of the helicopters,
Soft as the murmered concern amongst us,
Safe in our beds with our newborns,
Grateful not to be arriving by air.
Close your critical eye; Listen and use every other faculty. Disregard the illusion of progress, Of individuality parading in succes...
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