From: Jane Warneke
Sweet little life, babe in the womb,
in this our world is there no room
for you precious child, of great worth —
are you not deserving of your birth?
I can’t be glad; I cannot rejoice
over laws that take away your voice.
Despair may bring desperate measures
and blind one’s eyes to you, our treasures.
If life’s not protected in sacred space,
what of life with a different face?
Like one disabled or just too old?
What will follow as hearts grow cold?
Numb to death laws; such celebration.
How did we get here as a nation?
Like poems never shared or songs unsung,
we still the life songs of our young.