The horror of 'thought' in an aborted fetus. My daughter thinks it's 'birth control'; I disagree.

Innocent, inarticulate infant
utter umbilical misunderstanding,
intrauterine cranial compression.
Oh my little head . . .
red, white, blue and dead.
Where were my protectors proud and gallant?
Obviously not meant to be--no blessing.
Conceived in folly, that is my impression
Please hear my voice;
death wasn’t my choice
Intricately woven inside mother’s womb,
knitted together beautiful and pristine,
I yearned to see life, cuddling at breasts
Now I am in pain;
she has made it plain
that her body’s not for life--it’s a tomb
What was my crime I wonder, calm and serene,
do those living cherish life but . . . heck with the rest?
Unborn . . . dead instead.
Why’d they crush my head?
Babies return to where they’re loved, heaven
Angels, we become aware, articulate
Look inside yourselves . . . to what you do allow
Oh my little head
red, white, blue and dead.
Why mourn losing baby number seven;
when there’s six abortions noted on your slate?
Do you put your morals aside for a while?
Your lives we’ll enhance . . .
give babies a chance!