Inside a belly, soft but stretching ever tighter 

Is a home with no view, but infinite peace

Where tissue knits together a perfect design

For the life that’s taking shape

Outside, there is gentle folding and smoothing down

Ordered piles of tiny things (mostly white) mushroom in cupboards

Fingers stroke down the sides of feeling, testing for readiness

For the life that’s taking shape

There is no knowing on this quiet day, wrapped in patience

When the hush will be pierced by the cry of our newborn child

There are ages in the waiting, in the pacing

At this time, almost time…

For the life that’s taking shape

— By Helen Lewis