Like a she-bear, who, finding herself with cub in the fall, feasts on blueberries and salmon -- the better to get her through pregnancy and the winter -- Who burrows into a den, and sleeps away all the indignities of pregnancy (she even stays insensate as the baby bounces on her bladder), and Oh, wise ursine goddess, manages to sleep resolutely even through the agony of birth itself, and Only slowly wakes with the spring – perhaps hears rather than glimpses the clock of the seasons – is that birdsong? Frogs cheeping? and Still gently drowses while a tremendously clever and loving baby cub figures out all by himself how to latch on, Leaving mama bear generous permission to stretch and scoop him up, then roll over after languidly depositing him on her other side, still feeding, While she drinks the last draught Morpheus lovingly bestows upon her -- this is how I fancied myself, earth mother that I thought I could be. Twasn’t so. Kids -- all three -- had other ideas.
For April 26, write a poem with an epic simile.