Her Egg, My Child

’Tis bitter sweet the claws that grip.

What was once and yet never was.

A child, an egg, a feeble kip, the mother’s tears.

The sorrow, the shell of an inward flame.

The shell of an egg still blood stained.

Through the night she heard a scream.

A wretched sound, from a victim unseen.

She came, she flew, through the rainy screen.

Arrived at her cave, at the death scene.

She grabbed her egg, her beloved child.

She held it to her chest and cried a while.

What she wanted was for it to be gone.

She wanted not the child in her womb,

So it became the child’s tomb.

Wish not, want not, she new the price.

Now it was gone, not once, but twice.

Know ye now, the cost of blood.

To end one’s life out of greed alone.

You will surely end up all alone.