My baby,
Seem she’s come a fever
That boils high her blood
Her stool too to and fro
And feed her gush forth on
How she’ll live till morn bothers
So I fell my kneels- in pray
And there Lord sow thoughts
That I push a stick in her anus
So hinder ceaseless stool
And cot her too in fridge mine
May warm boiling blood hers
And there now sweet baby mine
Strong as stone, silent and well
That should let linger there more
And sure by evening she’ll wake
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem