Paintently she sits ,
In her crib,
Arms holding her rails,
Like she is in jail.
Waiting for her parents waking,
So she can be that adventurous girl.
Her laughs in childhood,
Are so clear in her mind.
Memories of fishing trips,
And camping-
The smell of marshmellows,
Still she smells in the air.
Her rocking in her chair,
As she reads a book-
On Dr. Seuss,
Of the bird who’s
Mother seems to be nowhere.
Her life was perfect,
The dream she would dream,
If it wasn’t a reality.
Now the dream she had,
Has went up in smoke,
Her life is no near perfect any more.
Though you think,
She’s not a day older,
But that child in the crib,
I cry to you,
But you turn away,
Saying
You will be happy,
Because I say.
You see my father thinks,
I’m playin’ a joke,
But a cry,
Is cry,
And no more tears can run from my eyes.
I have pain that I can’t bear,
It gets deeper,
And brings me in more despair.
My life was an act,
But they don’t see that,
Even when I tell them so.
Plainly as the day,
I can’t tell it no other way.

 
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