Production of the Replica

The midday sun scorches her back Sweat seeps through her feeble body As her nerves carry messages from her brain To make her muscles cooperate So she could stand and move around Inside her body a helpless guest with very special needs Hanging head downwards between cliffs of her bone Shot with delicate spasms With hair painted upon his skull The wretched visitor did not come out until it was ready The stress of delivery became more and more In only nine months the single fertilized cell became a fully developed baby. An amazingly complex organization of some billions of cells Undeterred, she kept on pushing relentlessly but fatigued The midwife held some materials attached to a dinner-plate-size device Shouting: Push! Push! Push! Swinging hand to and from across the deep hole Dropping to different directions and starts digging With urgent jabs the small head penetrates the hard earth. Could it be a female? Could it be a male? As the hole deepens, eyes were strained for a hint Suddenly, ears quicken as the high-pitched whistle Descends to a guttural clicking noise—A sure sign that the visitor has arrived After the production, how tired she was! Behold, I shall celebrate this diligent producer For she has done the toughest job a woman could do In pain she produced her replica In joy should she reap the reward Sweet mother, will I ever forget you?