I am not yet born; O hear me.
 Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
   club-footed ghoul come near me.

 I am not yet born, console me.
 I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
   with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
     on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

 I am not yet born; provide me
 With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk
   to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light
     in the back of my mind to guide me.

 I am not yet born; forgive me
 For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words
   when they speak to me, my thoughts when they think me,
     my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,
       my life when they murder by means of my
         hands, my death when they live me.

 I am not yet born; rehearse me
 In the parts I must play and the cues I must take when
   old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains
     frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white
       waves call me to folly and the desert calls
         me to doom and the beggar refuses
           my gift and my children curse me.

 I am not yet born; O hear me,
 Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God
   come near me.

 I am not yet born; O fill me
 With strength against those who would freeze my
   humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton,
     would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with
       one face, a thing, and against all those
         who would dissipate my entirety, would
           blow me like thistledown hither and
             thither or hither and thither
               like water held in the
                 hands would spill me.

 Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.
 Otherwise kill me.