Babies are boats confined to their moats
Filled with skeletal burdens and bones.
Wind, waves and tides are ballast enough
Without the threat of maternal stones!
Shipwrecked by the days of before,
A marooned cuirass lies sunning in gloom,
Till it’s drowned by the tide of a
Bitter maternal aside of the womb.
Are all children condemned to the red tides
Of sin by a mother’s broken water?
Suffer they must, and do, the sins of their
Grandmother’s abortion of a daughter!
