A mothers heart shatters,
as time of death is called.
The nurses sigh and move on,
as the doctor calls for coffee.

What happened to the innocence
of the little gurl. The one with
golden curls now black as night,
and the blue eyes hidden from view.

When a little gurl grows without
love the angels cry, as the blood curls
around a slit wrist. But she was such a
good little gurl, didn't anyone care?

Standing in the rain a decision is made,
life without love is not worth a livving life.
Cause of death is carefully printed on stiff
white card, stomach full of pills.

S Copeland