An old volunteer leaves the childrens home.
At his house he will read another tome.
This has been a routine of his for years.
In the night an unborn child's voice he hears.
Next to an old cradle he falls asleep.
Unused object he decided to keep.
Laying always in a half empty bed.
Who shared it way back he has never said.
Grieves for the loving wife, and son not born.
By violence from his life they were torn.
Though he agreed until death do them part,
To no one can he give part of his heart.
Kindness for displaced youth he will not lack.
Always helps those with no home to go back.
Though evil's symbol is the child unborn,
Wronged, he refuses to live life with scorn.