Too Weak To Cry
Unwanted, forced from my mother's womb;
cold, this table where I am lying.
Just one of the aborted millions . . .
does no one care that I am dying?
People wait for my breathing to cease,
callously turning to walk away;
those who should be giving loving care
are extending blood stained hands for pay.
Copyright, August 24, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015
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