Two Drops, One for Each

It is strange
The eyes are wet
Not a cross word
Has passed the lips, yet

Just the thought
Of those little ones
Struggling to learn
To face the world

Making friends
Making enemies
Challenging work
That test their abilities

Will they be able
To cope with them all?
I wonder if I have
Prepared them well.

When to intervene
When to step back
When to be firm
When to be slack

Who gives training
To mothers to deal
With the day-to-day
Upbringing ordeals

To be the god
They are made out to be
Hiding their feet of clay
Under the wings

That keep their little ones
Up in the air
Till they sprout
The wings to fly.