The Forlorn Son

 
 
He’s the forlorn son
Of a back-alley abortion
 
Who grew so strong
He nearly fall’d over
 
His will and his pride
Were gleefully soft
 
When he spit in my eye
It almost popped off
 
Now my mind and my vision
Are hardly mistaken
 
That my thoughts until now
Have been stirred but not shaken.

 

©2008 Babble of Consciousness 

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