Midwives and winding sheets
know birthing is hard
and dying is mean
and living’s a trial in between.
Why do we journey, muttering
like rumors among the stars?
Is a dimension lost?
Is it love?
Midwives and winding sheets
know birthing is hard
and dying is mean
and living’s a trial in between.
Why do we journey, muttering
like rumors among the stars?
Is a dimension lost?
Is it love?
