Coming To Be

A fetus cannot see—nowhere to go;
It cannot grip a nip’ with mouth or hand;
Nor can it breathe the air, or fast or slow;
It has no thing at all in its command.
Some sounds may enter ears, but it can’t hear,
Cannot distinguish what is in or out,
And to the noise it brings no sense to bear,
And everything is darkness round about.
And yet it cannot smile at this, or cry,
Nor wet itself and feel it’s body’s force.
The womb to it is neither low nor high,
And like a star it knows not of its course.
Then pressure sudden pushes—out it goes!
And independent babe, it cries aloud!
And then it sleeps, a nipple at its nose;
Ex-pregnant she is now a mother proud.

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