All that surrounds me, has turned to ash

I turn and see her. The little one of hunger.

Her skin clings to her skin, as if it is suffocating its origin.

Her eyes tell a story, one heard before.

Her parents sold her. As if she were an object.

As if she was cattle or a bit of fur.

Her eyes are sad, and can see you soul.

They tell you her story, and always as before

No one seems to recognize a little girl who’s poor.

Her cloths hang on her body, she is drowning in them.

Who can stop the torcher she is going through.

Look in her eyes. You’ll see what I mean.

Look into your heart to you have room to spare.

For this girl, even a little love would be more than she will ever get.