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.
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