Of those Knotted Reasons took us astray
And nearly severed Nine Month's Love within
But take us near, to where our Hearts delay
Delivered some Fettered Laurels therein
Which Sacrifice, un-told by Cryptic Past
That something Bubbly was about to explode
But, burning Albums to hide what should Last
Was a Better Meaning succumbed to implode
I meant this, Mum: Make no Foreign Mistake
That my Tongue and Arms mean something to you
Which for all my Brattiness and Forsake
A Loving Pride I give for all Things true.
Dearly return, to the Womb's Wisdom blows
The Fiery Son advise: Of which he knows.