Sometimes we don't take the time to breathe,
And sometimes we don't get the chance.
Sometimes good luck happens,
And sometimes we're abandoned.
Written in a book lying somewhere
Is a list of names and the nameless.
Every once in a while,
A line is drawn through
Before a history is written
With loving care.
Before pain becomes severe,
Everyone wishes for immortality.
It is only when life is lost
To one degree or another
That we renounce this plea.
Nurtured in a womb was a child
That would have been loved
More than all the world,
All the joys of the flesh
And every possible poetic pleasure.
God would have been sacrificed for it,
And nature disavowed.
Some people would say
"It wasn't meant to be," or
"God willed it," or
"These things happen."
Regardless of which reality is true,
The flower has failed to sprout,
And a childless mother must
Live with this.
Still, despite this pain,
This wretched fate,
There is hope.
From where life was once believed
To never have a chance to grow,
A "miracle" has occurred.
Life was almost born.
There is still hope.
There is no need to forever cry,
There is always the chance to try again.
One day, she will have a child
To love more than stars.