The resuscitaire is beeping
The lights dash from the ceiling
Her walls are fidgeting
Her condition is threatening
Her water breaks,some call it bottles popping
Her cervix trapped, she soon feels she's flopping
Shes in the farthest star,but she just can't shout it.
She shouldn't be shy ,it's a labour party.
The nurses are shaky ,but they try to fake it.
The doctor feels flaccid yet hopes he can make it.
The latest father smiles, oops! it's still a maybe
The latest mother pants, for nine months she craved this.
The foetus is racing, it's shunning its grassroots.
The cord is amazing until it is cut loose.
A baby is being born,life begins a fast boot.
Oh Daddy is crying, his tears feel like hot booze.
A woman A saviour A mother A true one
She laid down in silence and took in a spermdrop
In worry and agony, she popped out a live one.
A martyr A heroine raced on through a ram's horn.
The whole ward is gay now, melancholy erased.
Even she has forgotten the agony she faced
In a year,you ll see us being suddenly chatty.
Remember before then was a labour party.
This poem is used to showcase the scenario of a woman in the labour room,the similarities of her escapades with the craze people show at a party.
Much love to mothers!
