ACTION

Rest, little child,

In your mother's womb:

Unborn, yet waiting

For the surgeon's cold hand;

Your time is brief:

The blink of an eye

And you will be gone;

   You will not see the Sun,  

    Or the moon, or feel the breeze

Upon your face;

No hand will hold yours:

Now, you are gone;

Rest, little one,

From labors not begun -

Rest in God's hand.

                                                  J  L Foth, 2014