Sonnet of Motherhood XXVII – Zora Bernice May Cross

O, not alone I weave this miracle
Of glowing spirit from my body’s zone.

With every moment of the life unknown

You feed the glory of a growing cell.

All day I think of you, and night must tell

Dreams of my dreams unto your heart alone;

So, seeing you, I take you, O my own,

Into my child where first you wrought Life’s spell.

Dearest, as much as I, you breathe in pain,

Breeding yourself—your very soul from me

By look and sign, soft word and action strong,

And all you longed for in its form regain.

I am a humble haven where we three,

Father and child and mother, make a song. 

Sonnet of Motherhood XXXI – Zora Bernice May Cross

Beloved, I who shall be mother soon 

Need mothering myself this tired hour,

As heavily the sweet and precious power

Weighs on my heart till I am near to swoon.

Console me, soothe me, Dearest, with the boon

Of your firm strength, and little comforts shower

Soft on the drifting doubtings that devour

Patience and courage when the death-winds croon.
You are your mother, Dear, as I am mine.

And, as we slumber to our souls’ caress,

Those two who panged for us and weeping smiled,

Draw near and bind us in a peace divine.

O mother me; all else is comfortless

As painted lips above a dying child.