~ 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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