The tale of a forgotten young girl

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Page B4

April 29, 2014

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By Enid Jones | April 29, 2014, Tuesday |

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SHARP short gasps, trying to breathe deeply,

Face clad with sweat, chest heaving anything but evenly,

A young sick girl, almost dead,

Gray eyes filled with mounting dread.

She’s missing fingers, missing toes,

A little deformed and the entire world’s foe.

Forward, forward, lights shine ahead,

Her body is frail from never being fed,

Hope rises in her failing heart,

But as she gets there it is torn apart.

“Get out! Get out!”

The hospital blurs,

“Go out! Go out!”

Her thoughts are a whir,

“Stay out! Stay out!”

The voices slur.

She can feel hands, throwing her out,

She can see people, still out and about,

She can smell fading antiseptic, at first repelling,

She can hear sounds, whispering and yelling.

That night a small child died,

Out on the streets, no friends by her side,

To caress her hair or whisper in her ear,

Like her long-dead mother, the only one she doesn’t fear.

She’s missing fingers, missing toes,

A little deformed and the entire world’s foe.

They say she may have never passed on,

For sometimes her wails still fill the night,

Young and old whimper in fright,

All at her ghostly song.

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