Here you will find thePoemSonnet Of Motherhood XXXIof poet Zora Bernice May Cross
Beloved, I who shall be mother soon Need mothering myself this tired hour, As heavily the sweet and precious power Weighs on my heart till I am near to swoon. Console me, soothe me, Dearest, with the boon Of your firm strength, and little comforts shower Soft on the drifting doubtings that devour Patience and courage when the death-winds croon. You are your mother, Dear, as I am mine. And, as we slumber to our souls? caress, Those two who panged for us and weeping smiled, Draw near and bind us in a peace divine. O mother me; all else is comfortless As painted lips above a dying child.
