Poor Little Child

Poor little child, I don't even know
Why the seed was planted to grow
To be taken from my body in the darkness of night
I was all alone, so lost in fright.

Would you have looked like him or me
Would you have been a he or a she
Eyes of blue, or perhaps of brown
Could he have been president or her worn a crown?

I honestly don't know the how or the why
Not even a chance to say good-bye
To the poor little child who laid in my womb
Like the dead flower, never to bloom.
this poem is about a miscarriage, not abortion...
~Whisper~