A Crusade To the Unborn

We age past time We aim up high We tell how fine We feel so high Hence,lie, to those whose eyes doesn't want to see us cry -At distance miles- When a fiend asks why? Then, tauntingly, we grow hauntingly, our souls are sold -We tend not to know- Which is golden or gold It goes, so on and on Our erring hearts so burnt We yearn to be reborn But time-reflects so blunt Vague is the road we trod These forlorn gifts are false Its all a test by God For the first man's curse is us