Naught shall touch me she did say And even as a baby lay Squalling in her swaddling clothes. A swat, a push, a hand well-bit While latched upon on her mother’s tit- Human comfort, she did loathe. As a seedling not well-tended Never was her cold heart mended - Till she teetered at death’s door. Curled lip and hidden face Didn’t welcome his embrace – Naught shall touch me she implored.
Let’s pray it’s not true.
Terrific