My mother's pangs of nativity
Sent me rolling on sands of creativity
And The Ancient made this day sacred
By her cries travailed

I had the oracle annunciate
My cry wailed u'n hostile earth
While worlds wait, I walk The 'Fillment
Yet adversity has I to me acquaint

Waiting for the Lord
Grace Him for blessings in cord
The gifts of lowly birth and wisdoms
These, no other conforms

Let them whose flights are Timed
Soaring and flown so high balmed
Ne'er retrograde a'ough legs tread me slowly
I shall arrive like The End of Time surely

And on the last day of March
I said 'no, I'm her last ditch'
Thus I consummated the womb
Yet to grow my tender beard I comb