What child has caused no grief?
Who has not done injury
come yawping, red from the womb?
What infant has not fallen like a leaf,
arms and feet in flurry,
hunting down a human doom?
What youth has not eyed his father’s fief,
abandoned it in fury
taken to a tenant room?
What girl has not burned her maiden wreath,
fled her mother, to hurry
to the common tomb?
What parent has not hid his grief,
worked her worry
into stone upon a solitary loom?