Nor pick a flower blowin' in the wind.
She will never climb up to sit on daddy's knee
Never spend a summer day with her best friend.
She'll never bake cookies with mommy Never know what it's like to be sixteen
He'll never celebrate his first birthday
You'll never hear him call your name out loud
He will never run across a grassy meadow Nor will he be the little boy that makes you proud
He will never go fishin' with daddy Nor have the joy of buying his first car
He will never get to have his own family Nor hear
Day by day and one by one we're killing our future By the thousands every day across our land
Can you tell what has happened to America? Is there anyone who dares to make a stand?
We have the blood of little children on our hands Only God knows just what they could have been.
But in heaven God is picking up the pieces Of the countless treasures we have thrown away
While slowly reshaping and remolding Those precious little helpless lumps of clay
So lovingly he holds them in his hand Only God knows just what they could have been.
~I copied this off the blog Daughters of The King