It’s a topsy-turvy feeling,
Assailed by your inactions,
Tortured by the memories,
Of that little boy,
Jammed by a hit-and-run,
Struggling, helpless,
Madam’s water had broken,
Every second was precious,
You couldn’t delay by helping,
She bore a son, still as stone,
Now you wonder,
What if I’d helped?
PPBlessing 