Article
WARNING TO A FOETUS
Article
WARNING TO A FOETUS
Whatever it is that makes the sun Collect within a drop of ice, or run Some warmth down through the shaggy icicles That fur the belly of the sleeping gun, Whatever gets this glitter in the way Of steel, that gives its tired gray
A spark, or gems the rusting tricycles Within the Colonel's yard, is mine today; Is mine, is mine though only mine to borrow,
Is mine today, but will be yours tomorrow.
