create'th it not but, a ball sized wound.
it cries now for Sara's, two thousand sons.
lost at the birth, of the savior/son
and what of the portions, joined not at birth.
long barren they were, so she cleav'd its' parts.
and what of the Gift, of the sisters luv.
she give'th them now, to share'th their womb.
and what of the child's, and husband so dear,
endureth they must, the wound now returned
and what of the time, remaineth their still.
grateful they are, for that which remains.
and what of the ones, receiveth they still,
the gift have they now, of the savior/ son.