INFANT SORROW

My mother groaned, my father wept:

Into the dangerous world I leapt,

Helpless, naked, piping loud,

Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my father’s hands,

Striving against my swaddling bands,

Bound and weary, I thought best

To sulk upon my mother’s breast.

— William Blake, Songs of Experience

THUMBNAILS

The Book of Experience (page 01), 2009

oil, collage on paper

13.5 x 9.5 in.