I do not want to miss it,
The very first time I did,
I wept all night like a babe,
Whose milk had spilled,
Again in my sleep,
it appeared,
Bottling my thoughts in a cave,
Locked with webs of arachnids,
And spittle of leeches.
Do I need milk again?
When my heart raced for life,
A sour taste filled my mouth,
Like gravel when munching beans,
Inconvenience and distress,
My legs moved with speed,
Before a jury I appeared,
With gavel high in hand,
The judge made to pronounce.
