The midwife’s tidying up br with professional detachment br br and there you are; wrinkled; pink br with a glow that no man ever made; br br and I, a part of you for ever, yet br knowing, now, you’re you… br br one day in a little time br I’ll take you for your first High Street outing br in the pram or baby buggy; br br trying to pretend you’re someone else’s… br not one I’d fight my life for.. br br pausing to allow some friendly soul br to glance permission to have a peep; br br smile; glow; say a few kind words; br br then after that first stranger’s looked at you, br I’ll look at you myself; to see br br if you look different, or look differently at me br now someone else has met you. br br Sometimes, you are more beautiful, br more full of life, more independent and more you; br br as if your path through life had taken br its first step away from me; and yet br br along with pride, there’s quiet, sweet relief: br you’ll make it on your own. br br But still, I touch your pillow, smooth your cover, br look at you for some reassurance br br that we both know where poetry may go; br and you – you laugh, and kick the world away.