Description
Pieta
I was fourteen when I cradled you in my not much more than infant arms,
wrapped you in linen cloth,
fed you with my own life force.
Rich men came and brought gifts fit for a king.
Who knew that the swaddling cloth would herald a shroud,
the myrrh would point to your embalming?
Later I lost you for a while,
hollow burning hunger of fear gnawing at my heart...
I was fourteen when I cradled you in my not much more than infant arms,
wrapped you in linen cloth,
fed you with my own life force.
Rich men came and brought gifts fit for a king.
Who knew that the swaddling cloth would herald a shroud,
the myrrh would point to your embalming?
Later I lost you for a while,
hollow burning hunger of fear gnawing at my heart...
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