The Romanian Babies Poem by Iris Tennent

They are small human beings who lie on their beds.
with little strength left, they rock their heads.
No where to go,
no where to lie,
we are just left here to die.
They are alone with despair in their eyes
weak, so you won't hear their cries.
Left on their own
filth ridden mattresses
are these babies home.
We are the innocents, left to suffer so
no home, no warmth, or food,
no where to go.
We just want to cuddle
someone to hold
care for us, and love us
and shut out the cold.
Please GOD listen to our prayers,
and send someone, who really cares.