Unborn

There's an old oak tree outside my window.

A mother dove lives there with her three little eggs.

And she sits there faithfully through each storm,

Stands strong in the rain to keep her family warm.

I’ve seen her fight snakes and large birds of prey.

She would give her own life to keep her babies safe.

They can’t even chirp, still within their hard shell.

They are unborn yet alive and all seems to be well.

And if she tossed one egg out and it fell to the ground,

A small treat for a cat, would it make a sound?

No cry would be heard, yet still loss of breath,

For it would end a young life, alone and defenseless.

And would the dove then stand there content as could be,

Thinking she did nothing wrong since she is free?

For she is free to decide what to do with her life,

But not when it comes to those who can’t fight.

When would it end, that murderous dance,

How many eggs would still get a fighting chance?

This is not about law or the body but simply what's right,

And the fact that an unborn child is still a life.