Right to Choose

The child is father of the man ~
We think we’ve done the best we can
But that’s what causes arteries to harden.
Now it’s years too late.

Because the smoke blows all around
We look but we can’t see the ground
And, seeing not, we think there will be pardon.
The air clears too late.

We’ve exercised our right to choose
The little crosses stand in rows ~
They’re spread out there below us in the garden.
Are these tears too late?

A lamentation. This issue is not such a political hot potato here as in the USA, or now in Ireland, but the reported statistics are nevertheless appalling.

Included in Found Poems.