YOU UNGREATFUL BASTERD
Was I not thought of
Beyond the womb
Which you rose from?
When for nine months I
Dreamed of nothing
More, than I would
Gladly give my life in
Order for you to live,
My breast you nursed
From soothed your
Hunger, from which
You grew to become
A man,
And there you stand
To be, you ungrateful basterd.
E. L. Pleasant
All Rights Reserved ©
08/10/12 EsDrop
Publishing
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