That one child whom I never knew
with skin so fair and eyes so blue.
Spirited away one Tuesday morn
just as she had never been born.
I picture her face in dreams at night.
From heart and mind there’s never flight.
She’s tall and slender as her parents,
brought up within the sacraments.
I wonder, too, if she thinks of me
and what she’d do, if we were free
to talk and cry and share one dinner.
Would I be a saint or be a sinner?
I’d know her at once, if she came near.
What would she do? That’s what I fear.
I still have love for, as parents do,
the child that I never knew.