Why Iam Here
If I had been still born,
no cry would have pierced my day,
entombed in an ornamented chrysalis of clay,
I would be the desired deceased son.
If they read my elegy of sorrows,
it would be drenched in tears,
none would speak of hope or fears,
with weary sights set on tommorrow.
If they have no memories of me,
time will surely heal their pain,
they may just try once again,
for what must be must be.
Iam thankful none of this be true,
so that I may gladly serve you.
no cry would have pierced my day,
entombed in an ornamented chrysalis of clay,
I would be the desired deceased son.
If they read my elegy of sorrows,
it would be drenched in tears,
none would speak of hope or fears,
with weary sights set on tommorrow.
If they have no memories of me,
time will surely heal their pain,
they may just try once again,
for what must be must be.
Iam thankful none of this be true,
so that I may gladly serve you.
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