My womb doth cry and cry…
For the thing that delighteth it so,
It did not receive.
In the days past,
It hath gathereth and prepareth
A place so inviting and intimate,
Where it may conceive and nurture
The seed of a man…
But alas, the month has passed,
As many a month before it,
And none did it see.
Though the body rageth with appetite,
And expectation heighteneth in glee,
None, not a one, visited its home.
So my womb cryeth and cryeth…

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