Erica Hunckler, a senior at Guerin High School in Noblesville, Indiana, wrote this poem to support the right to life of unborn children. Read the story of her family's long history in the pro life movement here. As an assignment, nearing the anniversary of the Roe v. Wade decision on January 22, have your students write their own pro life poems or journal entries.
At ten weeks
I have ten fingers
And ten toes.
I have two eyes,
Two ears,
One mouth,
And one nose.
I have a beating heart
That will continue to grow,
With love for you,
And the world I have yet to know.
This body of mine-
Yes- it is my own. Uniquely made,
By God, I was sewn
Into my mother’s womb
So, let it be known:
I was made
In the Image of God, The only One
Who sits on the throne.
With Him reside the Angels, Saints, and souls,
Who lost their lives,
As they were torn,
Part from whole.
Let us not forget,
The parents filled with regret, And their need to be consoled.
No rally, protest, or political poll Can prepare a mother or a father, For the toll,
That abortion takes,
On their immortal soul.
To those who know
Of the lies that spread:
Share the truth with them instead.
No woman needs abortion,
To be a woman of ambition.
It is through this detestable invention,
That misogyny continues to be written, In our laws and in the hearts,
And in the minds
Of young gentlemen.
There is a popular pro-choice claim:
“Old white men are those to blame.”
With tongue in cheek
I say this is true,
For the justices in favor,
Of a woman’s “right to choose”
Nine justices
On the bench.
Nine white justices
Were appointed,
So they went.
To fulfill their duty,
Regardless of by whom they were sent.
Nine white male justices
And just two of them would
dissent.
From this decision came, Legalization
Of an incorporation
That inflicts pain.
I prefer to use their name,
Because Planned Parenthood,
Is seemingly unashamed.
Spreading lies for personal gain.
Exploiting women to boost their fame.
Stand up! Be not afraid!
Our bodies are not Planned Parenthood’s domain.
They prey on the marginalized, Marketing specifically in their location,
Establishing their disservice
With countless health violations.
Did someone forget to mention? Racism is their foundation-
Abortion’s minority is Caucasian.
48 years pass.
Generations are heartbroken Alas, hearts burst into shards Like a pile of shattered glass, Because the deafening silence, Of aborted children en masse, Thunders in the hearts
Made of glass.
Use this famous short story by Hans Christian Andersen to recount the victimization of children that existed in Europe at the end of the nineteenth century. The victimization of defenseless children continues to this day.
The Little Match Girl
It was very, very cold; it snowed and it grew dark; it was the last evening of the year, New Year’s Eve. In the cold and dark a poor little girl, with bare head and bare feet, was walking through the streets. When she left her own house she certainly had had slippers on; but what could they do? They were very big slippers, and her mother had used them till then, so big were they. The little maid lost them as she slipped across the road, where two carriages were rattling by terribly fast. One slipper was not to be found again, and a boy ran away with the other. He said he could use it for a cradle when he had children of his own.
So now the little girl went with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and a bundle of them in her hand. No one had bought anything of her all day; no one had given her a copper. Hungry and cold she went, and drew herself together, poor little thing! The snowflakes fell on her long yellow hair, which curled prettily over her neck; but she did not think of that now. In all the windows lights were shining, and there was a glorious smell of roast goose out there in the street; it was no doubt New Year’s Eve. Yes, she thought of that!
In a corner formed by two houses, one of which was a little farther from the street than the other, she sat down and crept close. She had drawn up her little feet, but she was still colder, and she did not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches, and she had not a single cent; her father would beat her; and besides, it was cold at home, for they had nothing over the them but a roof through which the wind whistled, though straw and rags stopped the largest holes.
Her small hands were quite numb with the cold. Ah! a little match might do her good if she only dared draw one from the bundle, and strike it against the wall, and warm her fingers at it. She drew one out. R-r-atch! how it spluttered and burned! It was a warm bright flame, like a little candle, when she held her hands over it; it was a wonderful little light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she sat before a great polished stove, with bright brass feet and a brass cover. The fire burned so nicely; it warmed her so well,—the little girl was just putting out her feet to warm these, too, when out went the flame; the stove was gone; she sat with only the end of the burned match in her hand.
She struck another; it burned; it gave a light; and where it shone on the wall, the wall became thin like a veil, and she could see through it into the room where a table stood, spread with a white cloth, and with china on it; and the roast goose smoked gloriously, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more splendid to behold, the goose hopped down from the dish, and waddled along the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast; straight to the little girl he came. Then the match went out, and only the thick, damp, cold wall was before her.
She lighted another. Then she was sitting under a beautiful Christmas tree; it was greater and finer than the one she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant’s. Thousands of candles burned upon the green branches, and colored pictures like those in the shop windows looked down upon them. The little girl stretched forth both hands toward them; then the match went out. The Christmas lights went higher and higher. She saw that now they were stars in the sky: one of them fell and made a long line of fire.
“Now someone is dying,” said the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only person who had been good to her, but who was now dead, had said: “When a star falls a soul mounts up to God.”
She rubbed another match against the wall; it became bright again, and in the light there stood the old grandmother clear and shining, mild and lovely.
“Grandmother!” cried the child. “Oh, take me with you! I know you will go when the match is burned out. You will go away like the warm stove, the nice roast goose, and the great glorious Christmas tree!”
And she hastily rubbed the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to hold her grandmother fast. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than in the middle of the day; grandmother had never been so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl up in her arms, and both flew in the light and the joy so high, so high! and up there was no cold, nor hunger, nor care—they were with God.
But in the corner by the house sat the little girl, with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the Old Year. The New Year’s sun rose upon the little body, that sat there with the matches, of which one bundle was burned. She wanted to warm herself, the people said. No one knew what fine things she had seen, and in what glory she had gone in with her grandmother to the New Year’s Day.
Comprehension Questions
1. What happened to the little girl’s slippers?
2. How many matchsticks had the little girl sold that day?
3. Why was the little girl afraid to go home?
4. What did the little girl’s grandmother say about the meaning of a falling star?
5. What happens to the little girl at the conclusion of the story?
Discussion or Journal Questions
1. What was the last thing that the Little Match Girl saw? Was this vision a reality or fantasy?
2. Who are children today who live like the Little Match Girl in misery?
Activity
“The Little Match Girl” has been adapted several times, including onto video and film. Look up the adaptations of the story. Choose and view one of the videos or films that illustrate the story. Summarize: How was the version different than how you imagined the story? How was it similar to your imagination?
