Poetry

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Dreaming of her photo being hung in pride of place,
Waiting to have a mummy that will wipe the tears from her face,
Hoping to have a Daddy that will tuck her in at night,
But then, reality grips her heart and squeezes it tight.

Looking on as life passes her by,
Wating for her time to come,
When her laughter blots out her cries.

Holding on to that hope,
That someone will display her painting on the fridge door,
That someone will buy her favourite cookies,
just to show that she's adored.

Reality closes in at the break of day,
when she opens those sleepy eyes,
realizing that she's still not been whisked away.

Her photo still not hung in pride of place,
Her painting still not on a fridge door,
No mummy to wipe those tears from her face,
No Daddy to tuck her in at night and tell her she's adored.

Just blank walls,
and distant faces,
Just cries muffled into a pillow,
and strange places.

Conversations about her,
Going over her head,
Not understanding the words,
Only walking where she's led.

Desperate for a Mummy,
And a Daddy she can call her own,
Dreaming of a place that she can call HER home.

But for now she sits,
In the still of the night,
Where reality Again Grips her heart,
And Squeezes it tight.

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