Poem 63

Sickness

The thought brings me sickness

The thought of carrying another child

Dread at the positive.

I don’t know what I’d do

I fear it more than I knew

That dependence of a creature

On my afflicted, tortured soul.

Who knows when I’ll be ready?

Time can measure but not predict

My delicate mind aching with terror

At a future not yet writ.

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