How pretty the petite little buds
like little white fairies shying away
they lie curled, in their little green beds
sleeping an infantile slumber.
My careless fingers hold that severed womb,
in it, three little innocents sleep,
not knowing their life of a day,
i have brought, to a silent end.
My obscenity goes unnoticed,
like a God, I had disposed,
to eternal rest and memory
three little lives in angel white.
Lost to the din and unheard, their weeping,
Yet, smell them in their passing, I did
Their sweetness, even in death.