Beloved, I who shall be mother soon <br />Need mothering myself this tired hour, <br />As heavily the sweet and precious power <br />Weighs on my heart till I am near to swoon. <br />Console me, soothe me, Dearest, with the boon <br />Of your firm strength, and little comforts shower <br />Soft on the drifting doubtings that devour <br />Patience and courage when the death-winds croon. <br /> <br />You are your mother, Dear, as I am mine. <br />And, as we slumber to our souls’ caress, <br />Those two who panged for us and weeping smiled, <br />Draw near and bind us in a peace divine. <br />O mother me; all else is comfortless <br />As painted lips above a dying child.<br /><br />Zora Bernice May Cross<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-of-motherhood-xxxi/
