I heard and saw a little girl,
a pretty little girl about five,
apparently lost in the noise
and rush of a supermarket;
Plaintively calling for mummy,
but mummy wasn't anywhere
to be found.
The next week I enquired at the
check-out about the little girl
to be told mummy was found,
in a toilet, with a needle in her arm;
Overdosed.
Leaving a beautiful little child;
Underloved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A poignant reminder of the 'collateral damage' done by those who practice spiritual queue jumping. This is a bold and confronting piece that leaves a lump in the throat. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥