It was a fun day,
Soaking up the sun's gentle rays.
She laughed and played, just like a child should,
So none of her friends thought of anything, but a survivor would.
The teachers see her body, bruised and lame,
But they don't say anything, for they think she does not wish to explain.
As she walks home, her friends, concerned, they shout,
But she does not look back, as she does not want to see them pout.
As she catiously opens the door to her house,
She sees her mother dressed in her normal flowered blouse.
Her mother rushes towards her, letting out a rabid cry.
She covers head and body, for she does not wish to die.
Left and right, she's thrown across the floor.
The beatings continue, even as her father walks through the door.
Finally, the mother stops and walks away,
Cursing her daughter, as she does every day.
A lonely, silent tear falls down the helpless child's cheek.
But no more fall, as she is no longer able to weep.
The next day at school, the teacher gets a call,
That the sad little girl will not be returning to school at all.
That sad little girl, who;s body was bruised and lame,
Who was never happy, will no longer suffer, and her mother is to blame.