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Had he looked behind him

He would have seen

That the little girl

Was not some teen

The make-up and hair

The clothes that she wears

Were a mask to cover her trade

She was out on the street

With little to eat

All memories starting to fade

He would have stopped

Even for a while

To chat and spend some time

For who would know

That as the clock struck nine

Of her existence there would be no sign

But his eyes were trained

On the floor ahead

As his footsteps one by one

Took him further still

From the desperate chill

And closer home to his son

A trade he made

A fair one its said

For a life he knew and loved

The exchange you see

Was not in cents and dimes

But in the choice of live and let be

How often do we pass on by

Our eyes trained not to see

The fear, the anguish, the helpless sigh

The unheard and silent plea?

We read in the news of the little lost souls

Mysteriously gone, vanished from a loved ones embrace

What could change, what could stop, could reduce the high tolls

If we gave this problem a face?

By the time it makes to the news you see

Its already too little to late

It's right now, right here, by the actions of you and me

That we can define a young child's fate

First published Dec 18, 2007

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