A tiny life.
Frail, fragile bones and blood
That may be held
In the palm of your hand.
Soft, it is sugar
To the tongue of your eyes.
It is innocence
That may not complain.
That will rely on your touch
Alone, to live.
The children of our bodies.
They fight,
Not for the right to die,
Which all children have,
But to remain.
To be precious.
To grow from frailty,
And on one day,
Host another small life
Within their own. |