Treads back my days, to the times of wail;
Waif were we, the cause of a gale;
A fate cursed, befallen on us a legions few;
Dwelling apart the sanes of the lee view.

A burden raised to stray their peace;
We the burden, with a grief to ease;
A brethren smile, we astray’s plead;
But, whom shall they keep? whom shall they feed?

“Give me please a work or some feed;
Let me but satisfy my precious ones need.”
For her fruit did my mother seek;
But ‘twas to my innocence very meek.

All to rue this cursed fate;
But only some to care for some’s sate;
One to avail of my mother’s plea;
A barren womb, a childless feel.

And so did mother pave the way;
For that barren womb in my life to stay;
And oft she went to a place unknown;
With seeds of sorrow in her heart sown.

Ceaseless was she in her love to foster;
To her was I jasper, was I aster;
In all those days of frailty, days of vanity
There she was with all her piety.

This day have I dilemma to conquer;
A dilemma snare where my sanity falters;
In the midst of my mother’s I pain to stand;
With this question to ponder at hand:

“To give whom this love, sacred and tender;
The loving heart from birth or the unfailing love to foster?”