The Unborn

There has been much talk recently on the subject of abortion, and it reminded me tonight of this poem. Many years ago (August 1981 to be exact) I had a miscarriage, at 10 weeks pregnancy. It was the more poignant to me because it was 2 1/2 years later before i conceived our beautiful daughter. There was a period when I wasn't certain if I would ever have another child, which made me all the more grateful for the precious son I had already been given. Yet, at the time, I never really grieved the child I lost, I just pushed the issue aside, and got on with life. it was 9 years later that it all came back to me, and I allowed myself for the child who was never born, who spent such a tiny time alive. that was when I wrote this poem. (Poetry has always been a major emotional outlet for me). One final note: it has taken me by surprise in recent years to learn how debatable the salvation of these little ones is to some people; rightly or wrongly I have never doubted that my child-who-never-was is waiting for me in the Father's presence.

Some sunlit run; fresh, sparkling, clear and free,
With lilting laughter, brave to meet the day;
The legacy of light lives large in them,
With a glad liberty, they run their way.

But, others in dark stillness are enclosed.
The shade their heritage, no day they know.
Bound to the lifeless silence of the night;
No harvest theirs, who never forth did go.

Lips virgin of all speech; sad, sightless eyes,
A personhood unstretched to measure life;
The ponderous regret of "might-have-been",
The reaching out, with endless yearning rife.

The tragedy of being, being not.
Unheld, unknown, naked in the night,
Unformed, in bitter smallness so alone,
Never to drink the Day-spring of Delight.

Never to be, yet held in perfect love,
Somewhere beyond the reaching of the flesh.
This Never-Being cherished into joy,
By Him Who holds us all in tenderness.