And, the wind has brought
Yet another grievous thought,
Thinking of the tiny babe
With no proper burial place...
Unknown, unnamed
Tortured and betrayed...
Instead of being a cherished fruit
The helpless babe
Came to be a tortured slave...
Instead of being tenderly in arms embraced
Had known the horror and gruesomeness
Of her mother's crimes...
Mutilated and desecrated
The precious babe
Who has not found a welcoming place
Unwelcome in her mother's heart
Found untimely, merciless death
Treated and disposed of as a thing
With her inestimable soul within...
A refuse heap as her burial place
Without seeing her mother's face...
Found no earthly, warm place
With a forgotten - battered face...
In her short time
Had known only
Other's brutal rejection and crime...
And, the wind has brought
Yet another too disturbing thought,
Calling for wrath to Heaven, thought.