Come, child. It's evening. Come to me
And sit with me once more.
Let's rock here while the others sleep.
Let's see-your sister's four;
The baby is three months today;
Your little brother's two,
And I have not decided if I'll tell them about you.

And you, you would be eight this year.
I do not know your name.
The color of your eyes, or hair,
Or where, or how, to blame.
The fear was all, the fear of change,
For I saw change as loss.
Against my dreams, my plans, my life
You seemed so small a cost,
Not knowing how your presence
Altered how I felt and thought,
Not knowing how you changed me
In the mix the hormones brought.
And you were not a child to me
But sickness, pain, and fear-
But oh, I know, I know you now,
Now that these three are here!
Your scent, your weight within my arms,
Your head upon my breast-
I did not know these things when I decided what was best.

And I am lost and so confused
And don't know how to feel,
For you, who were an illness,
Every year become more real;
Your sister and your brothers,
They proclaim you as they grow.
They make it harder still to face
The coldest truth I know:
That knowing-feeling-only
What I knew and felt back then,
I cannot say I would not make
This saddest choice again.
Oh! My little lost unknown,
My first and neverborn,
Forgive the ignorance that sent you
To the dark, unmourned!

And no, it isn't every day
I find your shadow here;
Most times I'm far too busy
For reflection or for tears,
But sometimes, when the children sleep
And I have time alone,
I sit down in the dark, and rock,
And bring my baby home.

©2000 Amanda Lewanski

Dedicated to all mothers who are grieving.

I wish that you could visit me. I'd take you to the shore.
I'd walk along the beach with you. We'd run and splash and more.
We'd build a castle in the sand, we'd hug, we'd kiss, we'd dance.
We'd gently hold each other's hands, and furtively we'd glance.

We'd marvel at the majesty of nature's clouds and sky.
We'd celebrate the moment as the gulls and kites soared by.
We never tire of giggling, skipping, splashing through the surf.
We'd watch a thundercloud roll in, with flashing over there.

The sun's return....a rainbow would remind us of his care.
The sun would slowly slip away, we'd sing a lullaby.
Our song, a soft sweet melody to welcome the evening sky.
Then shooting stars would welcome night, and I'd begin to cry.

Long ago, I made a choice, my choice was you must die.
You had no voice to call to me, I couldn't hear your sigh.
Your Angel whispered in my ear, "BE NOT AFRAID," she said.
But I was so alone and scared, I heard the lie instead.

It was a aren't here. The beach is gray and dreary.
I start to sob, I wish and say, "I'd give my life....if only!"
The sky is gray, I am alone, my soul is wracked with pain.
I'd give my life, if only I could make that choice again.

2002 Lillian Teresa D'Allaird

They had to pull us apart,
but they could never pull you out of my heart.
They could part flesh but they could not part love.
Now you fly free like a feather falling from the wing of a dove.

The grief was almost too much to bear.
Now I am healing, coming out of despair.
My child you will always be, throughout all eternity.
No man can ever take that away from me.

Our spirits connected beyond time and space.
No surgeon's knife could sever our cosmic embrace.

You are in heaven, my angel, my guide ever present at my side.
A heavenly reunion awaits us now;
because with God all things are possible that's how.

2002 Carol A. Foster

It was brittle-bright, cold
you would have grown to love the sun
to pay in the snow

my body wanted to curl up tight and protect you
keep you
save you
I let them pry me open

deep inside where you were hiding
they found you

did you know
could you feel how my heart had turned you away
or was it still soft and sweet and warm

in one moment the world split in two
and the heavens cried for you
but I didn't say
a word

a horrible sound
a powerful quaking in the sacred place
you were torn out of me
sucked down a hose like garbage
to mingle with other tiny, broken bodies

there was no funeral
no flowers or music
no beautiful words
no stone to bear your name

nothing to honor you life
taken in shame
and secrecy
and unspeakable violence

but there is weeping, my precious child
there is aching emptiness
there is unspeakable sorrow

I can only nurse you with my tears
please, let me nurse you with my tears

A smell of roses wafted by,
yet a rose I couldn't see,
I knew right then it had to be
my baby angel calling me...
I closed my eyes and saw her then,
as clearly as could be,
she was running with her arms outstretched,
running, coming home to me.

Her hair was long and bouncing,
she had curls around her face,
a dimpled chin and
a cherub grin,
she had a tiny warm embrace.

Momma, Momma, come and play,
I've waited all this time,
she turned her little face to me and
I saw it mirrored mine.

We danced and laughed and
chased the leaves blowing on the wind,
come dear momma, come and see
my closest dearest friend.

I looked beyond the shady brook
and I quietly understood,
her dearest friend, my gentle friend,
was Jesus Christ Our Lord.

I quietly whispered "Thank you Lord,"
please keep her in your care,
Hold her in those tender arms
And love her till I'm there.


This has been a place of daily miracles. 
Where strangers have sat in circles 
pouring out their hearts. Cleansing their souls. 
Searching for the love of God in the faces of strangers. 
They sit in circles weaving their lives back together 
with threads of compassion, forgiveness, love, and acceptance. 
The fabric of God's grace emerges. 
They wrap themselves and each other in this cloak of faith. 
Tenderly, they minister to the wounds of the soul in the body of Christ.
A place of daily miracles where strangers pray in circles 
and healing comes through the grace of God.


Special Adaptation of Robert Browning's "Women and Roses" poem
submitted by Monica Roberts in honor of the March for Life 2012

I dream of a white rose tree
And which of its roses three
Do I take thee most precious rose to be?  

Round and round like a dance of snow
In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go
Floating the women faded for ages,
Sculptured in stone, on the poet’s pages.
Then follow women fresh and gay,
Living and loving and loved to-day.
Thee most precious of roses on my rose tree.  

Dear rose, thy term is reached,
Thy leaf hangs loose and bleached:
Bees pass it unimpeached.  

How shall I fix you, fire you, freeze you,
Break my heart at your feet to please you?
Once but of love, the poesy, the passion,
Drink but once and die!---In vain, the same fashion,
Thee most precious of roses on my rose tree.  

Dear rose, thy unborn joy’s undimmed,
Thy cup is forever white-rimmed,
Thy cup’s heart nectar-brimmed  

Deep, as love waits while I still yearning
So will they bury me while my heart is burning
Your eyes on my eyes, your lips on my lips!
Fold me fast as my body slips
Prison all of my soul in eternities of pleasure
Girdle me for once! But no ---the old measure,
Thee most precious of roses on my rose tree.  

Dear rose without a thorn,
Thy bud’s the babe unborn
First streak of a new morn.  

Wings, lend wings for the cold, the clear!
What is far conquers what is near.
Roses will bloom nor want beholders,
Sprung from the dust where our flesh moulders.

What shall arrive with the cycle’s and change
A novel grace and a beauty strange.
I will make an Eve, be the artist that began her
Shaped her to his mind!---Alas! in like manner
Thee most precious of roses on my rose tree.  

Dear rose lost do I still mourn
Never to be, never to scorn
Thy most precious bud is the child unborn


Do not continue to live in the shame, fear or numbness - call our toll-free national hotlines: Rachel's Vineyard: 877 HOPE 4 ME (877-467-3463)

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