If You Are Pro-Life, How Can You Support the Death Penalty
The robin sings beyond the gate,
The lilacs breathe the air of spring,
And morning, with her hands of light,
Awakens every living thing.
The child unborn, the aging man,
The weary soul who walks alone,
Each bears a spark against the dark,
A fragile flame that is his own.
If life is sacred at its dawn,
When hidden from the human eye,
What changes in the turning years
That makes another fit to die?
The stars do not divide their light,
The rain does not choose where to fall;
The earth beneath our passing feet
Receives and shelters one and all.
I ask no answer from the wind
That wanders through the silver trees,
Only a question soft and still
That trembles on the evening breeze:
If life is holy from the first,
A gift no hand should cast away,
Can it be less a gift at dusk
Than when it greeted us at day?
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