
Lost Little Girl
I do not know if you are alive or dead.
I see your face your voice never
Forgotten.
The sun does not rise in the morning, nor
Fade into the west without a thought of you.
I mourn, nights are sleepless and morning
Eyes fill with fire.
No one more cherished, more loved, my
Heart bears scars of torture. Where are you
My lost little girl?
©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree
Scars of torture. Such powerfully moving words. I can feel this poem.
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Thank you anne.
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