Question of Birth

As the moment makes its approach,
I wonder quickly.
What is it I'm part of?
How much caution must we use?
A new person, helpless, and I as helpless almost
as one my age can be.
I'm here to show this person,
who'll be here soon the way of worldly survival.
Butterly, they will live.
Butterly too, they will learn.
And with the flesh to exist,
I'll tell the failing of the flesh to live on.
I don't know of death,
and still fear what that circumstance will bring.
So to live and to be with the child as one man to another
is all the man can do.
At least this man.
Helpless as I am in worldly terms.
And still, as we turn older through the circle
in the wheel,
in the movement falling inside in every larger curve.
It's still outside the plane that makes the wall
of what we know.
And still, we wait growing old someone comes
helpless and can not choose to come or not to come.
Helplessly someone falls into these small lives.
And must depend down those lives into
which he falls to be larger than life
as he will always know it.
And yet he must understand this to be helpless as he is.
Weaker than the strength that must be applied to life.
As he lives,
he is weaker than the leverage needed to grow against the odds
in his fear of atmosphere.
Worlds unfold to smiling faces of peaceful cooperation.
And now, a world of self-passes in the birth
and arm to the back, the Earth has left exposed
to those who were born to ride.
From the female interside the child is born.
And must not hide.
Helpless to he is to hide
from the burning eyes of fakeful being.
And helpless as I am
the father and the man am I.
Here as well as I can.
The father from the son,
now father, man, I am.