I’m so scared for that little girl
Who grew up abused in a broken world
By men who only ever used

Who never taught her love
Or how to be well
No one will care
Unless to get rid of

That little girl now five foot six
It matters not if love exists
For it has never reached her lips
Love serves only as a crucifix

Oh how I cry for her!
To her family a stranger
To the world a number
To death an anchor

I cannot save her though I tried
I must now stop being her guide
For I only seem to make her cry
And make her pain multiply

Oh how I hold her tight!
And squeeze with all my might
Her eyes blind from sight
Her body coiled from fright

She is a desperate, fragile thing
The gentleness of a morning spring
A seed in the dark in need of blooming
She is the breath of an angel singing

Oh how I know her aches!
I know her dreams and her mistakes
I know where her branches break
I know the thunder her cries make

Tiny frail hands always with blessings
Teaching others love was always the lessons
Helping others was always the message
But now it’s time to end the sessions

© Delia Ross. 2019