Alone yet brave, she sits all day,
and utters not one word;
For no one cares, if she is there,
her voice is never heard.
Her precious tears, from all her years,
fall silent to the ground;
Into the night, her dreams take flight,
'tis then her voice is found.
When she awakes, at Dawn's first break,
her words are gone again;
This one who's dead, now bows her head,
and asks God for a friend.
When they come, she sucks her thumb,
as they take her for their own;
Her teardrops fall, like silent calls,
into the dark of her home.
When they are done, she longs to run,
though too afraid to stand;
And then I say, to this child today,
"Come wee one, take my hand."
She looks at me, this girl of three,
with eyes of blueish-green;
I help her stand, and hand in hand,
she then states , "You are me!"