We recently received this poem from someone who has asked to remain anonymous.
In a splinter of time my soul is formed, yet not my hands and feet,Through pools of light & warmth, soft sounds of loves heartbeat. Hope’s within my tiny frame, will I soon see a mothers proud smile?I rest with thoughts of what lays ahead, not knowing cares or trial.
Now hearing sounds of laughter, that seem so far away,Does it herald another morning, where children laugh and play? I’d love to go and join them, but my time has not yet come,I’ll wait here safe and sound, deep inside my mother’s womb.
At last my tiny feet have formed; they are so pink and soft, Amazing in their uniqueness, a gift from God aloft. My hands, my face, formed perfectly in likeness of my kin, I wonder if my parents know the beauty that’s within.
I dream of songs and laughter, to lie upon breasts of silk, To hear that familiar heartbeat, while I suckle mothers milk. I dream of love and friendship close, to know the ones who gave, Those tiny seeds where life began, so distant from the grave.
But now it seems too early, what do they want from me? I feel my warm home shudder, are they hurting deliberately? I hear sound of mothers crying, and a father’s voice of fears! A moment’s horror of a surgeons probe and my life is none but tears.
© T. Lewis Westwood 29 August 2001. All Rights Reserved.