How many cries must we hear,
On innocent ones torn from their wombs so dear;
Of limbs ripped apart by the evil of man,
And thrown down into a dirty trash can?
Even the hardest of hearts you would feel,
Would feel remorse for its murderous zeal.
Yet thousands and thousands die each day,
Without even getting the chance to say,
"Don't do this to me, I beg you, please!
If only I was born, I would get on my knees!"
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem