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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.
Copyright ©
Victor Buhagiar
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