The sky was dark, though it was afternoon, and the air still but not peaceful. You stood beside your father- your small hand enveloped by his strong one...

If your first child might be one- or maybe mine. Maybe your sister would have one. Would you still think we should snuff them out?...

You cried And died a little more because I did not make a sound. I would not let my emotions run down my cheeks And drop in pools on the ground...

Sad, still Spetember's sheaf Of scarlet sumac, now, Coldly sheared by snow's silver sword Is sleeping...

Gleaming blond hair, sharp blue eyes, You rest in peace by the window. When you walk, you're proud, When you're hurt, you're defiant...