bitter to the deep end of my chest
because my mother's milk is not as sweet
then find i could not feed you from my breast
a mouth too full to suckle this new teet
the smallest hand to hold inside the crib
the softest home to find in this girl's lap
a starving boy will fast forget the bib
then try to scrape away his cradle cap
with silver shears too sharp to cut the cord
before this stillborn heaves its final breath
a door for us to leave the labour ward
would then become our sudden infant death
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