Not a love poem
The child within her almost dead. Its heart
sputtered away but did not ever stop.
And as it died, its dying drop by drop
leaked poison into her. And every part
each organ started dying. Doctors said
that while the child retained a spark of life
faith had decreed they could not use a knife
to end it. Not until the child was dead
and so she died as well. She had no choice,
soon no life either. Poison in her blood
vomit and fever. And the pious good
religious doctors listened to her voice
as it grew fainter. Let her die. Our tears
for all they've killed just like her, all these years.