We nurture them within our bodies, birth them in a blinding pain,
suckle them on breasts so swollen, till we think we’ll go insane.
We kiss away each painful boo-boo, bandage each and every wound,
show them that in spite of roundness, peas can stay upon their spoons.
We intercept their nostril’s flowing, be it green or white as snow,
wiping gently ever hoping, for the day they’d learn to blow.
We give to them each ounce of wisdom, try to teach them everything,
suddenly, for unknown reasons, screw it up and give them wings.
We mourn a bit, those cherished moments, when on us they did depend,
days when we were super heroes, possessing wisdom without end.
We watch the journey proudly knowing, as they soar into the light,
Mother’s wisdom, though not perfect, lends the wind that gives them flight.
Copyright © Shelly Berkeley | Year Posted 2007
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