Byron as an embryo,
behold the unborn Byron grow.
His budding brain grows ears and eyes.
Soon he swells to twice his size.
He drinks in with his mother's blood
a subtle, philosophic food
distilled from that good woman's sense
a strong poetic influence.
She calls him and he answers back,
from the amniotic sac: (he says)
"Spread the word, tomorrow morn
a future poet shall be born.
From my mother I shall fall
into the womb that holds us all.
My life shall be a meteor
which generations shall adore.
For my unbuttoned liberty
the unborn will remember me."
