Playing all day in the stream,
Having nothing but a dream.
The poor child wishes for a home,
And for her clothes to be sown.
Something more to eat than rotted bread,
Maybe even some needles and thread.
A warm bath would be nice,
To help get rid of the lice.
Even go to school,
Where other kids call her cool.
She would be a popular girl,
At her sight, nobody would hurl.
She would have her mother and father,
She wouldn't have to look any farther.
These dreams are her treasure,
More than any worldly pleasure.
When you go by and glare at her,
Think, for her, how things were.