Thinking of the nine months of calvary,
I blossomed from sperm to foetus naturally,
Chasing unseen butterfly in the scary room,
Thereby forcing mama's palid eye to zoom.
One day I was birthed to this ambit word,
With beam of smile on everything that seemed odd,
Bringing forth eccentric dancing steps,
And countenance flashes making the day a pep.
I was once a squatting bird on a tree of silk,
Gulping the heavenly made river of milk,
The puke and frequent splattering of spittle,
Those wrecked days mama managed to scale through.
Now I'm a man with two strands of mustache,
Anticipating the arrival of old age,
I will only live once, so lemme sit back and enjoy,
No time for sorrow, I shall fill it up with joy.
One day I'll be address as "the late"
After being caught up by death's bait,
The shock will untrap my lover's tear,
Emphasizing that life is a mere.
And if eventually I die,
On your cheek allow some strand of tears to lie,
I promise to keep them as my last souvenir,
Don't cry much for life is a doleful song of elegy remember
©loquavert
L