The Birthing

In honor of my daughter Deborah’s birthday, Feb. 13, 1960

I waited with the world
for you to be born.
Each of us waited,
Some counting the minutes
Some aware but working
to do the many things
that keep the wheels of the world
turning.
And some slept
Knowing you would
come without their encouragement.

I waited alone
working at tasks gentle and quiet
vaguely aware of the minutes
speeding by.
The rain fell
as if the world were crying
and then softly
with just a few fireworks
you were born.
And despite such
a small, quiet entrance
You filled me with
a sense of promise;
A sort of inner rebirthing.

I have witnessed your birth
some 78 years.
I have seen you born
sometimes with tears,
sometimes with a sense of joy.
But always
there is the smallest
sense of change
and of something
that is already ancient.

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