Poem 9

“What, oh mortal, do you hear,
A cry of a lark so loud, so near?
Yet far from complete this lark does sound
To all other mortals on the ground.”

“Oh wise, oh good, I do but hear
The soft whistful sound of a love so dear.
A mother’s cry, a father’s moan,
For sadly now, their child is gone.”

“I pary thee mortal – tell no more lies,
For though the child’s not in their eyes
A mother and father they’ll always be
To the child loved so much they cannot be.”

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