Number

NO SENSE MARKS THIS LAMENT…..
No sense marks this lament, this gnawing grief.
Though knowing that in no way brings relief.
And foolish even more guilt that assails
As accusation swells the keening wails.
I’ve borne six children, couldn’t handle more,
\
But still child seven, never now to live
Through tubes tied, rises to accuse me for
An act it is unable to forgive.
This child, I wonder what it would have been.
Boy or girl? Studious or athletic? And
To which side of the family would it lean
Had I demurred and nature had free hand?
Deprived of life! As though scraped from the womb!
This stone within me rests upon its tomb.