Her face is cut and dirty,
Her clothes are ripped and torn,
She sheltered under door-ways;
Weary and forlorn.
Her fragile soul is broken
By her abusive past,
She's the kind of child
That grew up way too fast.
Her father, always drunk,
Her mother didn't care;
And when her father beat her,
Mummy wasn't there.
Her father drunk their money,
Her mother went quite wild.
She shouldn't have to cope with this;
She's only just a child.
October 2008
this is sad but true, nice write, i was quite getting into it, good rhyming and bounce, i just wanted it to be a little longer, but a definate 10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Its sad; but true. you are really good and i love reading all your peoms. i like the way you ryme most of them and you can read them with a swing. =]