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Jul 13, 2017
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Infant Sorrow by William Blake (Imagery WS)
My mother groaned, my father wept:
Into the dangerous world I leapt,
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling-bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.
— Rula, Jul 13, 2017
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About This Poem
Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft
Critiques
scribbler
8 years 10 months ago
Hi Rula
An excellent short poem I'd never read. Should be a good one for shop purposes also
John Leslie O'Kelley
5 months 4 weeks ago
Rula
At the cradle of existence we each begin with a father and a mother, with no protection except our own mind for what will happen next. I do love your poetry!