From what can you not make babies?
a writer his writing
a musician her music
a scientist his science
a businesswoman her business
Each case was called to birth, to care for, to cultivate a child of purpose –
Maybe even more than one.
Loving the moments when growth is all too clear,
Relishing the little successes that prove it is an infant
No longer.
For a few moments only, this peculiar child might find itself lost,
Not in the arms of its parent, who promised
Blue skies would ride out the gales of discouragement.
Would the baby find life if the parent did not believe it so?
If not, then a different child is borne – one of darkness and despair.
Morning's Early Dark 