Poem Hunter
The Gift
AL (04.09.1987 / Kent, England)

The Gift

The distressed beast walks,
Stumbling over and rising again,
Twisting her centre cautiously,
Giving her signs with a kick.

Arguing mind with body
She cries out for support,
Reaching for the farmer
Praying for the finish.

As tired as a coal miner
Through the winter months.
Her womb squeezing with pressure
As a minute seems like forever.

While the youth's protection breaks free
The life tries to also;
The carrier fights her opposite brain,
And pushes with all her power and might.

The baby beast is being born
Into the world of straw and blood,
But many a time does it take
For it to be released.

Two stems and a protuberant nose,
And a rasping tongue
That is searching for it's first breath
Catching one at each mothers push.

Her final push reveals her young,
Hiding behind its beslimed body.
The farmer approaches clearing its airway
Whilst the mother attacks, tongue first.

In minutes the calf is attempting to rise,
And is eager to find food.
He struggles upwards,
His eyes are searching like a pair of radars.

Instinct tells him, as if a command,
Like a natural navigation system -
To find milk,
To survive.

His long wobbles shudder as if cold
But his mother is still covering him in warm licks,
Licks of love,
Licks of life.

User Rating: 4,8 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

birth, any birth is a miracle. You handled this one very well, Alexandra
A lovely poem to have been written so young.
I wrote this one when I was approximately 15 years old. It was early summer and our first calf was being born. I witnessed a birth, which felt like a miracle, for the first ever time.