Birth of an infant

Simple Birth

Sweat stained face in contorted pain,
the gritted curse of "never again.
I bowed sweetly to mop the wrinkled brow.

The task seemed simple at the time.
I only had the fleshy hill to climb.
Sweet union when our two forms met.

Joy extended with the ever swelling womb,
Her expectant, radiant smile lit the room.
Now the thundered face dared the slightest smile to shine.

But then the volunteered suffering was at an end.
The carousel turned again, I was her friend.
The shining, helpless infant somehow made her smile.