[“They remember the babies,” said the nurse, pointing to the old women in the nursing home.]

They looked out from old, broken bodies
at the clinically clean rooms
which attempted homeliness above the medical sterility,
and their thoughts went back many years to other clinical rooms:
the new-born babies at their side, the wonderful perfection of it,
the tiny fingers and hands, perfectly formed,
the beauty of the baby asleep, like the peace of angels,
how it had sucked life from their strong, young bodies;
and later, the attractive smell of the babies
and the delight of their smiles,
and the sense of their preciousness, and the happiness.

Perhaps now, out of sight, there was something waiting,
prepared by the same wisdom,
and they had just to let nature run its course,
and they would arrive there,
somewhere better than they expected.

Reg Naulty