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The dark cold wind of despair
gives me goosebumps
as it creeps up my spine.
I feel the cold touch of death
coming for my unborn son
as he creeps up from behind.
He reaches into the womb
with his cold bony fingers
and touches the tiny heart.
Death lets out a maniacal cackle
that chills the very core of my being
as he prepares to depart.
I beg and plead with him
not to take away our precious
little tadpole that waits to be born.
I feel his cold touch and his breath
on my ear as he leans in and says,
"I will leave you now to mourn".
© Copyright 2007 donnieg (UN: donnieg at Writing.Com).
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