A quiet room, the clock ticks slow,
September nears, the days drag on,
Her hands rest softly on the swell,
Where life stirs deep, the future drawn.

She whispers prayers into the night,
Hopes tangled with a trace of fear,
For every breath, a wish is cast,
To cradle love when it appears.

Her body aches, a gentle strain,
As summer fades to autumn’s song,
Each heartbeat echoes, soft refrain,
The hours stretch, but time feels wrong.

In dreams, she sees a tiny face,
Eyes wide with wonder, soft and new,
Yet shadows linger at the edge,
Of what she’s faced, and what she’ll do.

Memories, they swirl like clouds,
Of moments past, both sweet and sad,
Of paths not taken, doors once closed,
Of what she’s lost, and what she’s had.

What was she feeling, drawing near?
A mix of joy and sharp unease,
The weight of life, both new and old,
A mother’s heart, not yet at peace.

But in the dark, a light does grow,
A flicker strong, despite the pain,
She knows within, a strength untold,
To bring this life through sun and rain.

And so she waits, September’s breath,
Each moment sharp, a crystal clear,
For on that day, the second dawns,
She’ll hold her child, and lose her fear.
© Thabiso Dube