Hope of eternity,
Chamber of past and future;
The womb is where the seeds of love take grip,
as life begins to mature.
At first a girl’s womb lies somewhat dormant,
Until the hormones call it to bloom;
Then the sacred juices start flowing,
Cycling like the moon.
Then the boys come a flirting,
Gravity of the egg is a mighty force;
Calling the sperm from miles away,
To unite into the source.
Curiosity, infatuation, lust or fear,
May encourage the pollen to fertilize;
The woman and man’s honor is to guard the seed,
Until true love is realized.
For only true love can sustain the seed,
and welcome it to and beyond the womb;
Love will carry on the care,
From birth until the tomb.
The womb is like a garden,
Where starter plants can sprout;
Once the fetus is mature,
It’s time for it to get out.
And if the baby comes from the bond of love,
Then the seed has the best form of nourishment;
A life with hope, strength and beauty,
Is the fruit of love’s encouragement.
So when getting down and making whoopee,
Realize that this ain’t no foolin’ around;
Protect the womb from the darker forces,
And honor this sacred ground.