Three times a mother, factual, though agonising to accept.
You asked me where my children are, I merely wept.
You see dear, my motherhood is not one of physicality.
It is that of the heart, of the soul, spirituality.
It is true that when a child is born, crying, alive.
A mother's will is to protect it, a goal to which she will strive.
But what happens when but a faint heartbeat fails to be?
Where does that leave the almost-mother? Where does that leave me?