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Message From an Unborn Child ©

Jim McRobert
Edinburgh, Scotland
2005

My mother was a hip young thing, she pandered to the gang
Until one night she fell in love, it hit her with a bang
Nine months on, I appeared, one bright and sunny day
From within the Labour Ward my mum was quick to say
It is a girl, a fine young girl, with perfect hands and feet
But within its poor wee chest, her heart is hard to beat

Within an incubator I was put to calm this choking beast
Then sent home with a warning, no more fags at least
And this my mother did, but other folk did not
Gazing down, with fag in hand, at me within my cot
From two to three my breath was hard, gasping every day
Despite the tents and oxygen, they nearly had their way

For years I struggled on at home, each breath a fight for life
Until I reached my teenage years my lungs now coped with strife
I’d tasted all tobacco brands and all their flavoured smoke
Despite my spaced out steroids I found this life a joke
As patient patient in a ward I found desperate need
To sate my veins of steroids I had a hypo greed

They knew me daily in the ward, this need for steroid fix
Never told me ‘till to late about this potent mix
And as I lie upon this slab, my last breath long has past
In future remember all us kids and get the Smoke Bill passed


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