An Abortion Poem-My Little One

PLEASE NOTE-Some people, especially those who’ve had an abortion, may find this poem disturbing.This poem is not intended to condemn but to highlight the horrors of abortion and in emotional terms the abortion cost.


Today I think of you while I am weeping

And slowly count the lost and empty years;

If you had lived, it would have been your birthday,

Though every day, in truth, is filled with tears.

I try, of course, to think of other matters,

To dust and clean and wash away the pain

And yet the more I try to push you from me,

The deeper in my heart do you remain.

What colour were your eyes, your hair I wonder

Your little ears – what shape would they have been?

I want you, seek you, yearn so much to hold you

But in my searching mind you stay unseen.

If I  had known upon that day the future,

If I had felt the torment I would bear,

If I had not then let them take you from me,

I would not now be slave to this despair.

Within that room of death and dark and coldness

The devil surely did exultant dwell,

For was it not indeed the very annex

Adjacent to the icy halls of hell.

And is it my imagining, I wonder,

When first you felt that sharp, satanic knife,

You cried to me in fear, “What’s happening, Mama?

I beg you, help me … help me … save my life”.

It is a world become malign and shadowed

Where forces cruel, depraved, demonic reign,

Where those who are most innocent and helpless

Are cast away like winnowed husks of grain.

They talk of “women’s choice” and “women’s freedom”

And claim the right to life is theirs alone;

They blind their eyes to those who still lie hidden

Within the womb that they, themselves, have known.

All joy, all hope, all human warmth must perish

When pity, love and trust are thus betrayed,

When frozen hearts and callous hands accomplish

A work that dares destroy what God has made.

And it is He, the Lord of Life, who formed you

And cherishes you now, my little one,

Who will, upon that day when all shall tremble,

Ask why it was this piteous deed was done.

Michael Healy

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