Making Babies
It's a woman's job to worry.
It's her man's job to hurry.
While he's busy scurryin'
She sits there worryin'
and there's no time to mate.
So they both have to wait
till the wee hours of night
when the time is just right,
and he settles down
and she's feeling calm.
That's when magic starts.
They open their hearts
to desires inside
that they've both denied--
Passion's heat.
A glow.
Love.
And then God up above
sends down a spark
of Life in the dark
to where they have laid.
That's how babies are made.
© 2002, TAJ
This poem was selected in 2003 for inclusion in Eternal Portraits published by Poetry.com.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~family