The Travail of Owailo

In the dead of night, I heard the cry of death; A shrill cry it was, But a faint cry, As of a heart fainting of strength. It oozed out in a steady stream Of soul-rending shrill As of unending wail and groan From a house lately frequented by the grim reaper. "Owailo", mother had muttered in education, Was in travail! Her own slice of cross she must bear, Of the divine curse of travail appointed To all eves. Owailo travails unto death! The divine malediction of travail Becomes for Owailo, The inevitable appointment with death For her offspring she must never behold Even as the offspring lives. Oh hapless Owailo! The ill-fated reptile of the shrubbery, Who else has beheld your fate To plead your cause before the Law Giver Before whom mercy and grace abound?