To an infant still-born
Were you a water-baby
While you skimmed the fluid
By dead certainty of life
‘Mong the knotted grass of blood
And colloidal ooze
Of some primeval womb?
Death erased the name
And a few inconsequential
Particulars that perforce
Ride the tail of life
To fill a musty corner
Of Registrar’s office.
Death has spared the fret-
Those frantic cares and dull unease
The living suffer daily.
You are now one with
Flaming creatures
No matter if it be dinosaur.
Mastodons, perhaps some other.
Were you a water-baby
While you skimmed the sac
And fell from grace by
Exhaustion of fret, and froth
of life surround?
