This young child
by the name of Grace,
was born into poverty
regardless of her race.
She was fortunate to survive
to the young age of ten,
when you are so poor and homeless
the Lord takes you and you don’t know when.
Her short years were difficult,
of this we are sadly aware,
sometimes poor children
may have parents that just don’t care.
This young life knew not
of times that were good,
when you are poor like Grace
this is often just understood.
Her years did end
as tragically as they began,
one day she disappeared unnoticed,
just walked away with some man.
No legacy or history
to document a life so young,
just a tribute poem from this poet,
whose memory is fading like the setting sun…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My mother's name was also Grace, and she died young (44 years old) . The Lord takes you and you don't know when... So true, and one more connection: the age of ten you mentioned. My mother was ten years old when her family moved from Canada to Star Valley, Wyoming. I have a poem about her called MEMORIES OF MOTHER.