I was perhaps not quite twenty when I wrote:
'So much did woe cry out within me that I was born into a tribe in need.' And to this day
the injury will bleed:
I'm haunted by that ever-present woe and one that's greater still,
so that, sower of barren seed,
I'll say,
to change the words a little,
'Still does the woe cry out within me that I am horn into a tribe in need.'

And yet I hope this isn't so,
since I have undergone the test
of such great woe.