4 November 2012
The little girl sits on the swing, With which the wind plays, As she stares into the horizon, Caped in a murky haze.
Her face is painted with sombre, You can see it in her eyes, Whilst her heart is a puppet, Tugged forcefully by lies.
Cuts and bruises burn her sides, Her broken heart is scarred, She longs to be hugged in warm arms, But her life is barred.
The icy wind ruffles through her hair, But she doesn't feel a thing, All she wants is someone beside her, Alas she has nothing.
An image flashes through her mind, One which makes her flinch, A snapshot of her family, She feels her stomach pinch.
If they were still here on Earth, She wouldn't be on that swing, Outside the orphanage, Rocking calmly in the wind.
The Little Girl... • Opuss № I