Little hands, fingernails, unblinking eyes,
No songs of sleep and peace.
A muffled voice, a deepened frown,
They watched your heartbeat as it drowned.
Two birds one stone
Two lives gone
"A Catholic country," she claimed.
But what's that worth
When thousands flee
And never return the same?
Eight hundred buried without care,
Four thousand more rotting away,
No homes to go to,
Not a Christian prayer,
For the unborn, they are saved.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC