fasaelu.com

ALCOHOL

This babe so small, just four months old,
seven pounds, not much at all.
Placed in our arms to love and care,
the rest of our lives with us to share.

Unlike the other babes we´d had,
this babys face looked old and sad.
A pitiful bundle, light to hold,
this baby damaged by alcohol.

Brain to small to ever grow,
and learn the things she needs to know.
Cleft palate that would hinder speech,
and eyes that out to us did reach.

Tube in the nose with which to feed,
a child who really had no need
of milk and only felt the pain,
of needing just one drink again.

Sleepless nights and through them all,
this baby suffering from withdrawl.
Eyes that asked to help her through,
the pain that she was going through.

We did for her just all we could,
the therapies, we knew we should.
but how it hurts when we must find,
shs mentally four years behind.

And now at eight and oh so small,
this child who hardly grew at all.
so full of life, yet wants to know,
"Why is it Mum that I don´t grow?"

So off we go now once again,
on the ride of the therapy train.
And pray to God one day we´ll see,
her grow as she was meant to be.

The advertisments never show,
a child like her who´s dealt the blow.
Of living life right from the start,
different and set apart.

So pregnant women everywhere,
if you must drink, please think of her.
It´s time the whole world got to know,
of these babys damaged by alcohol!

Ann Gibson 1996
For Sinja and every other FAS kid!

Don't Ask My Child to Fly

Don't ask my child to fly,
for he has not wings.

Don't ask my child to see the glint on the eagle's beak,
for his vision has been diminished.

Don't ask my child to remain calm amid the din,
for her ability to screen out the noises has been taken away.

Don't ask my child to be careful with "strangers",
for he is affectionate with everyone and prey for the unscrupulous.

Don't ask my child to "settle down",
for the clock which works for you and I, does not exist for her.

Don't ask my child to not play with the toys of others,
for he has no concept of property.

Don’t ask my child to remember you tomorrow,
although you met today.

Don't ask my child to heal your wounds,
for her hands cannot hold a scalpel or sutures.

Don't ask my child to meet the challenges set by society,
for you have denied her the tools.

Don't ask my child to forgive you for standing idly by,
while he was being tortured in his mother's womb,

for he will,

but He may not.

Bruce Ritchie, 1997

Bad Child

I was a child
the one who was wild.

I was a child it was hard to love
and didn't fit in like a glove.

I was a child, a bad little girl
with her hair in a curl.

I was a child with a pretty face
that had no grace.

I was a child you called lazy
and maybe even crazy.

I was a child whose sadness
turned to madness

I was a child who went away
and never got to play.

I was a child who traveled far and wide,
across the continental divide

I was a child wandering alone,
trying to find a home.

I was a child who stood in the dark,
waiting for the call of the morning lark.

I was a child who never made you proud,
the one that was too loud.

I was a child who wanted to die
and made you sigh.

I was a child who went insane
from all the pain.

I was a child who always wondered why.....
you weren't able to love me or even to try.

by Gigi Pilcher, May 27, 2001