STILLBORN

Oh! It is a still born
It is a still born
How do we tell Her?
That her first born,
A son, is a still born
Oh! Grief and sorrow
The unshed tears inside flow
Of deep pain making all hollow.
Who will tell Her?
That Her beautiful baby boy in a bundle
Is not for Her eyes to behold and Her hands to fondle
Oh! Grief, loss and fearful sorrow.
It is a still born
The yet to be heralded joy is now immeasurable sorrow
Desolate faces of inept doctors tell it all
The bilous tongue refusing to utter
What the inevitably betraying eyes has seen
Oh! Who will tell Her?
That her babyis no more
She rejoices ignorantly
Not knowing that her nurtured foetus of four decades and more
Is born a warped, twisted and ugly tot
Condemned to no other fate than that of decay, neglect and and more.