(In a tiny wooden cabin,
One doesn’t say “have” but “haben”.
No one is there to speak
The husband and doctor,
Are both appropriately meek.)
Solely the doctor at her side,
The husband has left and gone outside.
Appropriate fear for his darling wife,
Or just to escape for a blissful second,
From another disappointment in life,
In which his wife dies because she is pregnant.
From the very depths of her soul,
She desires a baby which has
A functioning body and is normal,
Her screams rush out of her,
Like water from a fountain,
Piercing the walls of the cabin,
And bouncing of mountains.
She begs for a healthy baby boy,
Her darling, her sweetheart,
Her pride and joy.
Eight hours, she pushes and heaves,
Tears mingling with sweat and saliva,
It would not come out, just like the others,
The doctor would be the only survivor.
For the father had fled, already bereaved.
Pregnant with the dream of motherhood,
She grew inexorably tired, no food and
No drink has passed her lips. She cares not,
For the beat of her pulse but only for the baby,
Unborn. Tearing her to bits,
One more push and again and again,
Agony shines from the centre of her face.
She had already made plans
For the babies’ living space,
But it does not seem probable,
She will ever see her baby's face,
Nor would it feel the warmth
Of her comforting embrace.
She broke the wings of destiny,
Desire and will and love for
Her last shot at the meaning of her being,
Fulfilled this time, she knew
With all her heart. A tear of joy
Ran down her cheek,
As if running from the truth.
“Frau Hitler you have a beautiful baby boy”.