We misbegotten the sun,

yet it shined down,

without focus or whim,

I saw the longing,

that you looked upon him,

he as a child,

but not your son,

not that you had one,

not that you could,

a middle finger by life,

stuck up in your face,

you sullen,

you plotted,

you tried,

and you brewed,

stolen,

snatched,

taken,

his body never found,

for it was eaten by you!