My mind is plauged by internal frustration
My emotional feelings have fallen off their foundation
Without my brain consenting, my fingers begin to tremble
As I begin to sweat, with beads coming down the size of a thimble
My hands now steady enough to where I can open the case
My eyes dart to the chalky white wall, for I cannot look at his face
He's just a miniature infant, with enourmous problems
His complications had been studied, but doctors couldn't solve them
His mom was on welfare, with no father to support him
Because that man was in jail for extortion
I knew so little about this baby, yet felt so much anguish
As his eyes dug into me, with his own special language
Understandably so, nobody wanted this boy to die
But they knew once his pain was gone, he'd spread his wings and fly
As I choke back tears, I pull the clear syringe out
And wash the youngster's arm...Then turning off the spout
I gently lay him on the cold, barren, silver table
The tie his undersized arms to the table to keep him stable
As I put a firm grasp on his arm, I move in with the needle
And merely watch as the baby's resistance is week, for he is so feeble
Then I watch his eyes bulge, and look at me with a begging plea
Then I tilt my head upwards, and ask:
"Lord, oh Lord...Why'd you bestow this on me?"