There was a little girl, who lived
down the lane;
she also lived with heartache, disgrace
and shame.
I tried once to make friends with her,
but I miserably failed;
for I could never get her, to come
out of her shell.
Why she seemed so sad, was a mystery
to me;
perhaps she was mistreated, or simply
left to be.
Yet day after day, I'd watch this
young child play;
from my window to her front yard,
where she would never stray.
I longed to wrap my arms around her,
and tell her, 'It's okay';
to hold her tightly against me, and
give her my love each day.
This withdrawn, little girl, who played
in her yard each day;
always cried when the sun went down,
yet no one knew her pain.
She'd reluctantly go into her house,
like a sheep that's led to the slaughter;
and I'd think, 'I would give her so much
love, if only she were my daughter'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem