Rhyme Scheme: abab cdcd efef gg
When in my mother’s womb,
She sang me songs, read me books,
Inspecting her glow they all presume,
I was a prodigy, by the looks.
At two, I walked, cried but babbled not,
Quiet as a mouse or dumb as a rock,
Then at three, when I spoke, like a gunshot,
They all cried in awe and shock.
At seven, I crushed my bones and groaned,
Endured, repaired, neither limp nor hobble,
By seventeen, stoned, at twenty-two atoned,
Repenting, driven, and I was particularly cantabile.
Abruptly terminated at thirty-five
Lifeless I lie, didn’t revive.