She walks the streets of London . her hair is matted and dry a face yellow and jaundiced She's forgotten how to cry. No one dares approach her She scowls and roars like a bear This is her defense for survival All she can do is "swear". Begging at street corners trying to survive each day no one ever talks to her There's nothing they want to say. She walks all day, sleeps at night One eye open most of the time Does this girl deserve this life? Before she reaches her prime. An existence going sadly unnoticed Everyone would pass her in disgust How could anyone live this way? In the depths of despair, she was thrust.. Labeled without even knowing her Assumptions made by the way she appears Maybe the reason she lives this way Is recognizable with floods of tears.? No one bothers, no one cares as she ploughs on with her life no kind word, no self-respect just trouble, pain, and strife An occasional person stop to talk muttering under her breath too scared, to acknowledge the kindness All she thinks of is "when will be death." How can we allow this to happen to a human who is plunged into fear she must be someone's little girl Someone who was held dear.
My name is William Sinclair Manson. I am 60 years young, I am Scottish but now living in a small village in England. I have been blogging for many Years but recently joined Wordpress and I love it. I have made many new dedicated friends here and hope to meet more around the World.