A poem of a stressed child inside of a womb of what they must be thinking.
| Inside the womb, there was nothing but doom, so I just sat there and began to pout, since there wasn't much room to move about.
Things weren't the same when the funnels came; the strong winds were blowing along, and it wasn't long before I resisted, and soon persisted without a doubt, what this disaster was all about.
When things went sour, I fought for power, when I decided to get some flour.
Hardly making any sound, I knew that I could lose a pound. Gently falling to the ground, I felt free as a leaf with you around.
If I could just borrow any old thing, I would gladly purchase a diamond ring.
If I could solve this old riddle, I'll try to play a nice new fiddle. I'd gladly make you heal, if I could feel the way you feel, and put together a good ole meal.
I know that I would surely try, if I could look you in the eye, to have you look into the sky, then I'd know the reasons why.
With all its gloom, an escape from doom will be ideal when it becomes real. When I feel like going adrift, I'll know that I'll be getting a lift.
Written By Anna Marie Carlson
Friday, January 31, 2020
Revised on Saturday, February 8, 2020