Behemoth

He didn't know what on earth to tell her –

all of this had gone so wrong so quickly –

no, it had taken years to come to this –

yet who could say any of them was guilty?

He knew no word could ever cure cancer –

yet saying nothing made him feel sickly,

he wished he could perk up his lovely miss

who today wore her best dress, so pretty.

He listened to the guy say he'd beat her

pretty bad, so much he became prickly –

but that plainly was his dad's fault, not his –

he'd tell them had his mouth not gone silty.

He hadn't meant it, and not one would hear –

he'd explain but he'd speak out too thickly,

he'd say he knew their marriage wasn't bliss

but the glass box he sat in went misty.

Why on earth would nobody tell him where

his stillborn son'd been buried? He really

wanted to hug him, and her, and to kiss –

tell them so they'd then see and feel pity.