The Cord

I never felt it at the time --

perhaps I believed that it still existed at different stages in my life.
It tugged gently to and fro, yet safely back it came.
 
Later, I felt the deep-piercing cut severing at my womb-like heart,
tears like blood flowing, dripping, until at last they slowly ceased.
 
Like a wound, it began to heal, yet left behind a melancholic scar
that changed the once-perfected state of the umbilical cord

before the cut of my children leaving home.

Sylvia McCutcheon's Questions:

Is this poem very sombre even depressing and morbid?

Do the lines seem to be united in pairs?

Thank you,