Sadness is a cold, cruel mistress;
welding whips of shame filled fear.
Bringing with her the old distress,
lashing woe for those not here.

‘Stead of happy thoughts of those to come,
with cherub cheeks, new life aglow;
my mind dwells on babes no cry came from;
those darling children none will know.

It sometimes seems an awful hoax,
how life can start, then disappear.
A mother’s kiss they could never coax;
no mother’s voice ever called them dear.

They tell you that these things just happen;
that the baby was never meant to be.
Perhaps their genes were too mishapen
and their life would have been a misery.

To those that say this: you have earned my deep, abiding scorn.
This mother’s love will always be, for my sweet babes, neverborn.