His Mother's Son Poem by Mandy Baldwin

She gave him his life in a welter of pain
in the pit of a cold March night.
The wind blew cold so the fire was lit
and they lay there, all naked and white
And she thrilled to the dark, primal gaze of her son
as his first morning bloomed into light.
And she never let go of his small, wizened hand
and the cradle was always in sight.

Now he sits in the chill of another grey dawn
and he's old - but then, she's older yet.
And for all his grey hairs and his lines and his years
still the child in the man can't forget
All the days he was safe in the world of her arms
All the love that he saw as a debt.
And in grieving, he clutches her small, wizened hand
as he did on the night that they met.