In 1972, the year before our government sanctioned the legal ability to put a human to death while growing inside his/her mother, Fay Clayton wrote and published this poem on November 8, seeing what was coming. Do not confuse this Fay Clayton with the Fay Clayton of 1994 who was a Chicago attorney for the National Organization for Women (N.O.W.) who successfully sued all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court that abortion protesters can be sued for racketeering.

Anyway, back to Fay Clayton of 1972. Her poem deserves our prayers that abortion in America would be outlawed like it is in . . . “The Ballad of the Unborn”

My shining feet will never run
On early morning lawn;
My feet were crushed before they had
A chance to greet the dawn

My fingers will never stretch
To touch the winning tape;
My race was done before I learned
The smallest steps to take

My growing height will never be
Recorded on a wall;
My growth was stopped when I was still
Unseen and very small

My lips and tongue will never taste
The good fruits of the earth;
For I myself was judged to be
A fruit of little worth

My eyes will never scan the sky
For my high-flying kite;
For when still blind, destroyed were they
In the black womb of the night

I’ll never stand upon a hill
Spring winds in my hair;
Aborted winds of thought closed in
On motherhood’s despair

I’ll never walk the shores of life
Or know the tides of time;
For I was coming but unloved,
And that my only crime

Nameless am I, a grain of sand
One of the countless dead,
But the deed that make me ashen grey
Floats on seas of red