Birth and Death
As, ailing,
I moan helplessly,
The primrose beside me
Trembles.
Here in the white hospital room
I seem to be lying in the snow
Or to be buried alive in a cave.
Stranger than the two suns
In the heavens are
The three hearts
Beating in my body.
When the speechless devil,
Like a dark shadow,
Shakes its fist,
The infants in my womb
Bite their mother.
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