To me, one silly task is like another.
I bare the shambling tricks of lust and pride.
This flesh will never give a child its mother,-
Song, like a wing, tears through my breast, my side,
And madness chooses out my voice again,
Again. I am the chosen no hand saves:
The shrieking heaven lifted over men,
Not the dumb earth, wherein they set their graves.
Cassandra
Louise Bogan
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Poem topics: child, heaven, lust, mother, never, pride, song, wing, voice, earth, chosen, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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