A very old poem I wrote: Porcelain Child Broken by his hands, At the young age of two, Like the porcelain doll, But he forgot to bury you. Did he hear you? I wonder if Mother did, With the cold steel blade, And of you, they got rid. They should have not mistaken, You and live steel, It cannot feel a thing, The pain you did feel. Shattered and broken, You, the porcelain doll, They left you to fate, To destiny and the bell’s toll. Did they wept? Did they ever regret? You would wonder, And they didn’t, I would bet. Taken by the devil’s hands, Would the child ever be at peace? Receive mercy from the angels? For her sake, at least.