To the mothers of children who never were
Who died in the womb unnamed and unknown:
You also were mothers, albeit but briefly,
And loved with the love given mothers alone.
Yours was the stirring of life within life,
The being of being all one being knew,
The love of a love that knew only your love,
The world to a world that knew no world but you.
Yours the unspeakable pleasure of giving
Your substance to nurture the creature within;
Yours the inscrutable song of creation,
Bringing to being the dust of the wind.
Death is the end, but never the meaning;
Life is a gift, no matter how long.
You, too, are mothers, the bearers of beauty,
The icons of love to whom this day belongs.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon