A heart is formed in quiet hands,
The fruit of life, blood in the sands.
A dilemma deep within the womb,
A path the heart alone assumes.

The red, it flows, so still, so clear,
What once was wonder disappears.
But freedom wears a heavy veil,
Of pain and solitude, so frail.

The right to choose, both strong and strained,
Between a life and empty pain.
A woman’s body, deep and free,
She chooses, though in silent plea.