by Dorothy Wellesley

Dorothy Wellesley

Woman, thou shalt say to son:
‘I, the blood, got thee upon
Nothing but a phallic stone.
This, no more—a phallic stone.

Now I wait your probable death,
I, who was a fact of earth,
Never held a fainting faith
In Buddha or in Christ’s belief.

Life is naught but bitter moan
Got upon an ancient stone.’
Some such curse the woman hath.

Last updated September 13, 2017