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She was a drug addict, 
Had many flings with men, 
And as they do predict, 
She fell time and again;

She found herself with child, 
Was advised against drugs, 
Who cared? She got more wild, 
When stopped, she simply shrugs;

(Think of the little life
Growing within her womb, 
Who has no say - such strife! 
She builds her baby's tomb...)

Somehow, the foetus grew, 
Abused before 'twas born, 
Oh! If only she knew, 
That it might see no morn;

A friend saw her (dismayed), 
Six months pregnant and high, 
She took her home and prayed, 
In her bed, made her lie;

Soon enrolled her in a
De-addiction centre, 
Cared for her during the
Shakes ~ was dubbed 'tormentor';

Still, she did not back down, 
Won her trust, helped her fight, 
She who was 'bout to drown
Has since found the "True Light";

Three months fled by, pains came, 
She gave birth to a girl, 
Beautiful, though born lame, 
Survivor of drug-whirl, 

Forgiving self is tough, 
When she sees her child strive, 
But God's grace is enough, 
She's glad she is alive;

Her friend has helped her win, 
Go back to drugs? Never! 
She's been transformed within, 
Indebted forever! 



1st May, 2022






{This is a work of fiction, written solely for Anthony Biaanco's "U Choose" contest - Theme chosen: 7) Abuse of the unborn}


(There are many other problems such women may face apart from self-guilt... For example: The child, when grown-up, may question the mother on the reason for her disability...)

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