My Envy of a Stillborn.

knows no love or hate.
Still referred to as ‘ it”.
Never tasted the gall of living,
Though weak, from life’s void fleeing.

Finally escaped the wrath of men.
Cry no more mum, ‘ tis not bad omen,
You have less to vigil about,
Your pain has taken a better route

Pity not the rich thing,
Of all live’s wretch, none is ‘it’ a being,
Oh! how I envy your lot,
You who know nothing of world’s rot.

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