Abortion and suicide: A poem 

If of our temples we are the lord 

The voice from within is the beseeching of God 

For, the joy of the fruits of the haloed womb 

is the right of procreation not of a tomb 

Plucking out a bud in its bare infancy 

A cradle thus undone deserves no clemency 

For mother nature solely does the telling 

of all the customary quenching and quelling 

We cannot be the owners of life and death 

To divine laws that we meekly be subject 

Patiently nurturing like the gardener’s hand 

And in letting each tree of the orchard stand 

Life is a lesson in paying previous debts 

A weary traveler cannot his own journey upset 

Exiting the door when the home yet needs to be graced 

is from the blazing fires of the after-life, no escape