Sunday, 11 December 2011

Humanity's Heir - Petrarchan sonnet

It started with the planting of a seed:
He ploughed her, tilled down into her rich loam.
After several weeks she knew her home
To have a third member: with child, they agreed.
They began preparations: changes decreed.
She didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, her body a throne -
A royal palace, an ivory dome.
But soon, water broken, she was due to conceive.

In labour for hours she pushed on through
Until she was born, their darling daughter.
But how queer! Her features were so unlike theirs,
Her nose was unlike, her eyes were too.
But for this they did not slight nor fault her:
World in miniature, she was humanity’s heir.

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