The nurseries once filled with laughing children are now closed, the shades drawn, the cribs empty, for Western women, having heard the toxic siren song of feminism that unfortunately coincided with the development of the Pill, decided they would no longer submit their lives to the inconvenience of having and raising children. And so, the nurseries are empty of laughter and rhymes, school playgrounds are silent and abandoned, and in measurable time, if the nurseries do not begin to fill again, the countries of the West will die, as one by one their elderly die in nursing homes, alone and afraid, with no family to visit or mourn their deaths.

Where once the tiny room shown bright with cheer
With babies and small children in their beds
Where mothers held them close and held them dear
And stayed all night when sick to give them meds
There now are empty rooms with dark drawn shades
So that the sun may never see the gloom
Or hear the silence as the laughter fades
As one by one a small key locks the room
At menopause the childless women cry
And tear their flesh in anger at the way
They selfishly denied the reason why
Their destiny was children for the day
When they grew old and needed sons to care
And give them all the love that they once gave
And daughters to conceive and then to bear
A grandchild to stand by her lonely grave