and sleeps with open eyes.
The derangement, shock, and mental injury she nurses
A sad news, too young for formed ice.
The torture in her spirit, she did not think a life as this
Starvation in her kindred, a gradual semblance,
the church mice.
Her last words before she slept deep
Another black child born unwise.
The flower without sepal and petals
A reached menopause, a prize.
Oh! None of my encomiums dared suffice.
She is now dead flower,
she is off this hour
But he promised us change, a deadly lice or pregnant lies?