The Baby

I wrote the following poem in camp, inspired after I unthinkingly remarked that a friend’s “twenty minutes of fun created a lifetime of pain” when he talked about his illegitimate daughter:

He asked her for a kiss
On a night so very fine.
He asked her to be his
Over red roses and wine.

They had some fun that night,
Twenty minutes more or less,
In a room with dimmed-down light,
That’s how they liked it best.

Little did they know how fateful
That night was to be;
Something most describe as wonderful
They were going to see.

But little Jamie was to be born
Without hands and feet,
With a mouth crooked and torn
And a heart that oft-missed a beat.

Their twenty minutes of love
Turned into a lifetime of despair;
They created something
Even God could not repair.

For three months little Jamie cried,
For that was how long God on Earth kept.
Taking pity on the parents and child,
He let her aching heart set.

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