Woes In Wombs

Barren women in the arena of Sylvia Plath Weep for a baby To bless their progenital path With a lilting lullaby Sung at night Rocking baby in maternal arms Imbued with love delight In urban hamlets or on farms Where baby comforts mum Worn out by house chores Despite nibbling a plum On maternal shores With fonder love Mum derives from nurturing Baby on wings of the dove That needs no external culturing As mum and baby bond Despite pains the childless Suffer from the infertility vagabond Who certain wombs refuses to bless And who robs childless women of joy When scorn and sarcasm on them rain As detractors and subtractors enjoy Heightening the strain Barren women bear At home and in society Where they dare To walk tall with piety They deserve With or without children In tone or in reserve Along soothing words and hugs from brethren.