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