There's a little guy somewhere,
waiting to appear.
Curled up inside his mother's,
protective atmosphere.

He's the one they didn't count on,
He's and extra mouth to feed.
A little inconvienence,
that neither of them need.

He's doctor bills and formula,
he's sleepless nights and stress.
He's wet and dirty diapers,
and a house that is a mess.

He could have been a newer car,
or a cabin with a view.
Or a cruise,or clothes, or Vegas shows,
or other dreams come true.

So they talk about abortion,
as the alternative.
For that fetal imposition,
that would change the way they live.

' He isn't even human' ,
he doesn't even breathe.
He's just a misadventure,
they happened to concieve.

They sit there in the waiting room,
with papers they must fill.
The waivers and consent forms,
and arrangements for the bill.

They know it's what they have to do,
there is no other way.
But once or twice they wonder,
what that little guy might say...

' I wish you wouldn't do this,
I've got so much to do.
I have to learn to walk and talk,
to dress and tie my shoes' .

' I Have to learn to whistle,
and I have to learn to run.
I have to learn to say my prayers,
when the day is done.

I have to watch for daddy,
with mommy at the door.
And I have to ride in the carts,
when you take me to the store.

I have to blow out candles,
on lots of birthday cakes.
And pose for all the pitchures,
you always seem to take.

' If you let them do this,
I'll never learn to wave.
I'll never have a birthday,
I won't even have a grave.

I'll never play a game,
I'll never laugh or cry.
I won't even have a name,
and I'll alway's wonder...WHY?

written by: Bob Scott
posted by: housemouse


75.133.155.200

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