Through the tired leaves of autumn, I see her golden face. Just rising over the dusky hills. I shrug and smile.
Babies come when they come.
But what better time to be born when the Mother shows her autumn face Warm, golden, haloed by the dust of harvest. The tumultuous strain and release The roar of the mother cry as one becomes two. She brings her baby to the Mother Holding her daughter high, naked for the Mother to see, to light the child with her golden glow. MSN Your baby did not even know that you and she were not one. Everywhere she touched, she met your softness, your resistance.