Old People sit and wait
Like vultures for a carcass to die.
A young man paces nervously
With a watch and paper by his side.
A young child quizzically wonders
What’s in-store for this night.

A suitcase packed with essentials
Sits beside the back door.
A vehicle gassed and ready
In the driveway awaits.
A young mom still waits
For one locked deep inside.

O night of amazement and wonder!
O night of appointment divine!
While the mob still waits
For the one locked deep inside.
They wait for God’s time of appointment.
They wait for the voice, “It’s Time!”

A scurry of motion and action
And a hurry of activity.
A sudden burst into action,
Then they’re gone
And the silence is dead.
The vultures and young one still linger
And think about what was just said.

Gown and masks of a sterile environ.
The questioning probes of the doc.
The doubtful looks of the nurses.
The insistent determination,
“The mother is saying, ‘It Hurts!’”
Then it’s over. “Let’s do it again!”