I stood and watched
my daughter's birth.
A tuft of hair
salt of the earth.
To see it through
to its safe end
I prayed to you
asked you to bend
rules of devotion.
My smile was frozen
with high emotion
and I had chosen
you as my keeper
my hand to hold,
as now my beeper
so shrill and bold
called me away
to other chores
liquid dismay
oozed through my pores.
I held you then
today we're shy
called Mother Hen
and time goes by.
Reminds me when both of my chidren were born....nice Herbert!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have been called Mother Hen by various relatives because I needed to screen all apllicants of the male gender if they wanted to look in her general direction. H