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On Motherhood

Donald P. Goodman III

Version 1.0,
A child is born, and he has never seen the earth, the green of grass, the dance between the sky and cloud; nor anything besides the miracle of birth and the embrace of Mother, loving, warm, and proud. And all the things that he will love and he will hate he'll learn from her who bore him, cradled in her womb; she feeds him milk made from her flesh; thus it's her fate to feed him from her soul what he'll hold to the tomb. So he who looks down on a woman is a fool, and she who scoffs at motherhood spells her own doom; far more than kings and presidents, than peer and school, the hand that rocks the cradle truly has the rule.