The following poem is re-posted by permission from Linen on the Hedgerow. It was written by the site owner's (Richard Collins) late brother. He wrote it in response a newspaper article, dated 22nd May 1969, which carried the story of an aborted baby crying out on its way to the incinerator. The poem was found among his papers after his death.
I found the poem a very difficult one to read ... which is the reaction the poet was hoping for, I imagine. His brother would like the poem to get the widest possible dissemination in the hopes it might dissuade those involved in offering abortions from continuing what they do. So please share this with others in any way that you can. And if you'd like to copy it on to your own blog (with a link to its site of origin on Linen on the Hedgerow) I'm sure Richard would be only too pleased to accommodate you. If this poem was to save only one life it would be a marvelous legacy for his brother to have left behind.
The cry of an aborted child
Hear me O God. Hear.
From the depths of my condemned cell I cry.
None will hear me but You because You see,
I have no vote.
I did not murder nor did I steal or wound.
Yet I am held here helpless before the sterile steel.
Or the poisoned needle.
A death too brutal for murderers is a death
reserved for me.
No comforting breast nor loving Mother's arms await me.
My body will be given to be burned.
What have I done? I have not earned
this sordid unlamented end.
In sin was I conceived. Unwanted I die
before I shall be born.
O when the metal enters my brain,
when I shall kick my last convulsive agony,
take me, take me to Your arms.
None will console me, none cherish me.
None hear my last suffocated
shriek from the traitorous womb.
Save You, save only You.
O love me God.
John Francis Collins RIP