There she stood all alone,
Looking as if she had no home.
I took her hand as she cried,
"Thank you Miss, but let me die.”

She was just a child of merely eight,
For such a little girl, the pain so great.
I could not leave her standing there,
Bruised little face, blood in her hair.

I said, “Please little one, come with me,”
She answered, “I can’t Miss, don’t you see?
My Daddy’s mad, and Mommy’s dead,
He put a gun right to her head.

I tried to stop him, but I’m too small,
He kept saying, ‘I’ll kill you all’
He beat me and I fell to the floor,
I kept crying, ‘Daddy, please no more." 

Daddy drinks and he fell down,
So I ran away and into town.
I need to go and join my Mommy,
Without me, she’ll be so lonely.”

Just then a shot rang out,
As the little girl fell, I began to shout.
How could you kill your own child?”
He put the gun to his own head, and smiled. 

© 2005 Janice Jarnagin



 

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