To Be Born at the Perinatal Dawn, or Lay Still the Soul

Once upon a dream, stirred a cosmic dawn,
Hallowed in darkness, divinely we came,
As in birth and of death, journeys the same,
Through darkened vales, drawn towards chaliced hands,
From out of the whirling roulette, laid calm,
Where time found the Eden child, hallowed sweet,
But a voice stirs ever haunting to ask;
Shall they fall awake at the ninth month dawn,
Beyond the whisperings that stoked their Souls,
Beyond the bliss of their Edenic home,
Readying them for a kiss to the world,
In sweet cries cradled in their mother's arms,
Or upon their tearful eyes, shall they close,
And lay still the Soul, back to sleep again,
Ceasing their cries, and to Heaven their tears,
Drawn from the beauty of a swollen womb,
And lay sorrow and joy in sweet repose,
By the dust of a Perinatal tomb,
Through darkened vales, into the Potter's hands,
Where the Angels shall quiet the raquiem,
And they shall weep no more, shall weep no more.