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Thing I created you said could not stay, the soul thing that was mine you swept away. My only creation you deemed no good, and so from the Earth life was extinguished.

I could not care for, hence was not allowed, the slightest contact with my love avowed. So tiny nugget that two did conceive, product of passion, disposed properly.

No muss and no fuss, no wondering why, just a procedure, dry tears that I cry. One in eight billion, no need to feel loss, sloughing of tissue, excise passion’s dross.

Words that were spoken, rang so hollowly, all that I wanted was healthy baby, but time wasn’t ripe, so fruit was disgorged; no need for tears, just need to move forward.

“Thank God that that’s over, must have been hard,” upon soul words press, I’m forever marred. ‘Over?’ I think, ‘No, for eternity, end of days, my loss shall be part of me.’

We stop for ice-cream, I get strawberry; pink, for lost girl I don’t get to bury. One in eight billion, no need to feel loss: Sloughing of tissue, excise passion’s dross.

My only creation you deemed no good, and so from the Earth life was extinguished. I could not care for, hence was not allowed, the slightest contact with my love avowed.

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