Is there no purer love than for my own newborn child?

Pushed from my loins,

Watching, listening for your first breath,

Your cry.

Your father was there, stoic,

He held my hand, as good men do.

Who felt the most awe?

My heart  felt swollen with emotion,

Hard labor satisfied.

But you were never mine.

You stayed long enough for your glossy wings to dry,

Then flew off into the sunlight.

Life does that.