After I fell, the creatures built a road
to me as their attraction, lately dead.
They sought my body for their bed and board.
The mouths of earth dug in to my last spread
and clouds of wings of air began to feed
and multiplied within my flesh a horde
of infant maggots who were cute and brave.
I let down no one in the nursery grave.
I let down milk of me for all to have.
Not only did my little ones survive
off my staple stink but also thrived.
(Little did I nourish while alive.)
I would have been sainted by the saints on high
if I had still been I enough to be I.