All the babies I never got to hold,
And with a mother's love, warm and tender,
I ponder memories that won't grow cold.
Though they never even had a name,
Though their lungs took nary a single breath,
Yet still I wept and mourned each one the same,
And felt the stinging pain of ev'ry death.
Knowing that a child had grown there within,
One that would never see the light of day;
Knowing its little life would ne'er begin
Caused me pain that will never go away.
As eight balloons float to the skies above,
I pray they'll know they'll always have my love.
