In the middle of a room filled with machines of a world that places its faith in technology, Women gather to practice a ritual that is as old as the human heart. The child lies still, breathing only because the machine wills it. The women have come to sing a song. They differ in life experiences, some have sung the song many times before, to some the words are new - but they have been ready for them, written in a sad place in the soul that no one visits willingly. They all know the tune.
Hands reach out to touch the child.
The machines are silenced - the only sound now is the child's slowing breaths. The women reach for each other. They know that the day will come when they will have to sing again.