Images of a Child

"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!"
Children laughing as they all hit the ground.
Five of them playing in the park,
In an hour or so, it will be dark.
Grabbing their things, four head for home
Leaving one little girl, on the swing, all alone.
Her face is dirty, her hair unbrushed,
Her eyes are dark, her voice is hushed.
Her flowered dress is torn, her body bruised
But is this girl, one of those abused?

She sat in the swing, head down, all night long,
It is obvious that something is wrong.
But no tears roll down her little face,
She seem so sad and out of place.
The school bell rings, everyone goes in,
The little girl, in the school yard, alone again.
Looking out the window, teacher catches her eye
The look on her face, she looked if she would cry.
Same torn dress, same unbrushed hair
Where are her parents? Why don't they care?

Three o clock, school's over for the day
Teacher looks for the child who ran away.
Eyes haunting, she is disturbed by her face
She looks but doesn't find her any place.
Teacher stops by the grocery store,
Have you seen this child, poster on the door,
It bared a likeness to the girl, she had seen
Thinking to herself, this explains everything!
Her parents, must be besides themselves with fright.
Teacher wonders how they sleep at night?

On her way home, thinking of the girl,
Thinking of how she can change her world.
She drives by looking at the park
There the girl sat, hidden in the dark.
She approached the child, ever so slow
"Sweetie, I bet you didn't know....."
Irrupted by a sly eerie smile
Her soul uneasy, all the while.
Something just doesn't seem clear,
Why is that this little girl sits here?

The little girl still smiling, points to the trees
Only then the teacher begins to see.
A little sneaker, stickers in a pink bobby sock
The teacher takes a step back, in shock.
Horrible sight, send a chill to her soul,
Sights she sees of a world she did not know.
She leans in for a closer look,
And that was all that it took.
Same sad face, same haunting eyes
Why didn't someone respond to her cries?

Swollen was her face, blue were her lips,
A doll still held tightly with her finger tips.
Her little dress, torn down at the seems
Nobody heard her childlike screams.
Bloodstained was her little blue shoes
Her hair was matted, she was abused.
Dirt and leaves, covered her clothes
This was the burial, the killer had chose.
No final goodbye, no resting place,
How can he live after seeing her face?