Sonnet #2

That there would come a time might be supposed
When this young manchild ceased at length to care;
His well of hope, like teacher's, welded closed
Before a world that left him in despair,
To sigh like Noah, forehead in his hands,
And no more watch the neighbors or the flood -
Yet still there stirs a heartbeat that demands
That conscience yet receive its dole of blood,
That will hold out for just another day,
That empathy not suffocate and die,
That faith be never lanced and drained away,
That hope not stop to ever wonder why
He midwives for a screaming world unborn
Accepting that all hope may be forlorn.

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