Thorn Bushes

[for a contest]

Thorn Bushes

Next to the train tracks,
There lays a white cross,
Remembering that little girl,
Who was always hidden away.

She'd sit in the thorn bushes,
And watch trains pass by the hours,
Ticking down the minutes,
Until her world was due to end.

Her little blue eyes,
That held the pain and the sorrow,
And her tear stained cheeks,
So round and smooth.

Her father died while doing his police duty,
And lost her mother to alcohol,
Nothing left of home,
Except a trashed house.

Thorn bushes was her home,
The only real place to go,
Where she could think of the past,
And wonder about the future.

The train decided to quit in that area one day,
Train men rushing by those thorn bushes,
One caught a glimpse of matted hair,
Only to find, a little girl in the thorn bushes.

In the newspaper,
It said her name was Hannah Marie,
Was only nine years old,
And passed away peacefully in the Thorn Bushes.