That women birth seems an aside,
The truth of birth we^ like to hide,
With a storkish euphemism,
No real choice is given,
No honour or celebration,
Birth is an enduration*
And so their power, women relent,
And we begin with consent.

But before consent comes The Decision.
Hopefully made with some precision.
Hopefully made with time and space,
Free of pressure to complace*
Beginning with consent,
Removes freedom to dissent,
For here a Yes is implied,
And your freedom is denied.

^we, meaning society
*poetic licence..a play on endurance and compliance.

Consent is on everyone's lips.  From media discussion about 'enthusiastic consent' to medical requirements for 'informed consent', it seems pretty clear there is a problem with 'consent'.

If consent was what mattered, we would not need to prefix it with a qualifier.