My Children

I've had four lives that grew inside that darkest inner place, gently. But only three of those survived to live, and feel, and breathe with me. Only two beyond three days Did carry on the endless fight, and of those only one retains the gift of precious, perfect sight. Each gift special, birthed by me though only two and four are here. One and three have long since gone to places where there is no fear. And in my heart there drips a wound of agony to never heal, as I remember living pain that dying children never feel.