My Formative Years

When were they my Formative Years; Blown away I clung, I chaffed before strong winds. Each germ each bit of grit as dusk inside remained to form. The bread you eat today within I hide, of he whom is I am, upon the alter dressed so nice in lace your trap, I took one slice. I saw a falling of a branch of figs too Newton's heavy apples. Does that angel soft with wings of silken care too wrap around his snake laid bare to catch each breast, cried out loud for milk. And crossed upon each heavy burden laid I down on narrow shoulders there along that road for all too see, back undressed each bruised foot and blistered toe, weeping eyes for ever more.