Читать книгу Rising - Jane Beal - Страница 22

When the stillborn child won’t wake,

when the breath I breathe into him doesn’t move him,

when his mother’s blood is still pouring out,

and I have to make a choice—

Lord, have mercy.

When the morning light comes in the window,

when darkness flees before the dawn,

when I walk outside in the tender mist,

and tears gather in the well of my heart—

Lord, have mercy.

When I sleep and dream of heaven,

when I wake and go to the baby’s funeral,

when I comfort his mother and then return home

only to receive word of a another woman in labor—

Lord, have mercy.