The loss of life yet unborn

Spring Blossoms in Stone Gardens

With a seed, she chose to sow
came all her dreams undertow.
A nine month term would enshroud
all the time God could allow.

In the kitchen singing softly
for this child she so adorned,
came the voice of shallow talking,
like a tiger slowly stalking.
In my words, she felt the sting,
for her words ceased to sing.

In that moment of the morn
chasten to the falling gloom
for the seed, she chose to lay
sleeps in whispers in her womb
with the spirits in this room.

How to fight this milky sorrow
that lies in stillness of the morrow
captured in the morning gloom?

He called the child in that hour.
I curse the spirits gathered round her
lurking in this milky gloom
yet, I cannot fill her empty womb.

All of me, I keep on giving.
Life must live and keep on living.
Your tears do truly shower
for the sorrows of your womb.

In the kitchen of early morn
I hear you singing in my heart
to the souls of children, walking
in little footsteps, slowly stalking,
they whisper in your womb
far beyond this milky gloom.

These red roses are all I offer
to his memory, I am enslaved.
In the early morn of first light
I lay them softly on his grave.