samantha: 1973-1987
You sit there in your wheelchair, in a corner of the room,
crumpled in the foetal form you took inside my womb.
With limbs that are immobile, and eyes that cannot see; ears that hear all noises,
Do you know it’s me?
You will never understand this world, never know you have been deprived.
You should have died when I gave you birth, but with help, you survived.
Although there is nothing I can do, and your handicaps break my heart,
I love you, and I always will, whether together or apart.
Small things bring you happiness – a word, a cuddle or a song.
Oh if I could give you a normal life, but to your own world you will always belong.
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