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~ The
Tattered Dress ~
There was a precious little girl
~
That I passed by today.
She gave a little "teary smile"
~
As she skipped off to play.
She wore a little tattered
dress.
Twas all she had to wear.
I somehow "knew" her wishes,
For ribbons in her windblown
Hair..
I wished that I could hold her ~
Make her sadness disappear.
I could somehow feel her pain ~
And also know her fear.
Just a little precious child.
I wished that she was mine.
I'd play with her and love her ~
And make her smile - with time.
I feel her little "shadow"
As I pass the place we met.
And I will always "love" her.
This child I can't forget.
I always will remember her ~
The child from out of "nowhere".
The precious child; the tattered
dress.
(Perhaps she's wearing ribbons
now ~
In her windblown hair.)
~*~
Mary Anne Ray
© 2001
Who steals my purse steals
trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has
been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my
good name
Robs me of that which not
enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.
William Shakespeare 1564-1616:
Othello (1602-4)
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