The spark of life, a fragile, tender flame,
Within the womb, a silent soul takes flight,
A beating heart, too small to stake its claim,
Yet bears a right to see the morning light.
What hand dares quench this gift with darkened art,
A Satanic rite, defying heaven’s will?
In shadow cast, it tears the soul apart,
And bends to evil’s cold, unyielding thrill.
Each breath denied, a story left untold,
A laugh, a tear, a dream that might have been—
The scales of justice falter, uncontrolled,
When innocence is offered up to sin.
Oh, let us guard the helpless, undefiled,
And cherish every mother, every child.