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Here's Alison: Nobody Else

Alison Ross draws a poem from the deepest well of sadness.

Nobody else will remember
The day that my grandchild died.
Killed by the hand of his mother
Herself, not more than a child

Nobody else will wonder,
If his hair was dark or light.
Nobody else will care
That abortion doesn’t seem right.

Nobody else will imagine
Him grown into a man,
The son of my son abandoned,
Thrown into an old clinic can.

No-body else will imagine him,
Round and chubby and free
Granted the right to live,
Nobody else, but me

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