My Aborted Baby

Crepuscular rays filtered through the trees: Tall black cypresses around a dark shrine, Evening grim bells toll as I feel the freeze, Conscious the tomb covered with rambling vine, While nocturnal butterflies just decline. I could not help utter a maze of sighs, My desolate unborn baby just lies, Never forgotten, but always evoked Except the woman who'll never get wise. Cursed she'll be, an oath I never revoked. Fiction I am against abortion. But I am in favour of forgiving.