LET IT BE BORN

Maybe our baby will be a boy.

A strapping lad,

A strutting stag.

Or lost and lonely

Selfish and stoney.

He’ll play piano and flute.

Or be bullish and brute.

Whatever he’s like

We’ll love him alright.

Maybe our baby will be a girl

Witty, astute,

Pretty and cute.

Or flighty and rude,

Obsessive with food.

She’ll lead the land.

Or do drugs in a band.

Whatever she’s like

we’ll love her alright.

Maybe our baby will not be born.

An angel torn

From its mother

To become something other

A cherub, a sprite,

A soul without form.

Oh God whatever it’s like

Just let it be born.