Monday, June 30, 2014

Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe

I was born on Wednesday
The child full of woe full force
With doubts of survival floating
Like a death shroud falling
Lightly about my small being 
An ending rather than beginning
But I fought for every gasp of air
My little lungs could gather in
Wantonly clinging to tenuous life
With the dark companion hovering
As white frocked ladies tended
With tender pinches to keep me crying
For each breath drove the darkness further
The low light of Autumn's first blush
Giving each moment hope
Thankfully one never remembers 
Those first days of being with dim eyes
Yet here as I near the end closer
Seem to see phantom imaginings
Of an early Fall's promise of Winter
With a unknown fate ahead.

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