The doorbell rings and flowers are delivered. Visitors arrive, creep in to see. Any passer-by will know if this is a coming or a going. In the bedroom, centre of attention, someone small and wrinkled lies awake. Too young to smile. All she can do is take her mother’s breast, cry, excrete and sleep. She gives joy and hope to all who come, delight in her new life, her innocence. Bustling woman, seldom sitting down, deceives herself that all she does is give to other people. And all they do is take. She can be so fraught she doesn't know whether she’s coming or going. In the bedroom, centre of attention someone old and wrinkled lies awake, smiling still but no strength left to speak. Wearing nappies. Needing help to drink. All she can do is take. In return her eyes give out her love. She watches with concern as others grieve to lose her gifts, not knowing she will leave memories, wisdom, and experience. The ellipse of life has perfect symmetry wide in the middle, ends both gently narrowing There’s mystery in this similarity of coming and going.