That Little Girl

Someone is eating alone in the park of many
and no-one is stretching a hand
Is she selfish
are we snobbish
Not only time but space will tell

Something is missing in the cupboard of fame
yet no-one is counting tonight
Is this horror
are we honoured
Not only scores but pain will tell

The little girl seeks company
but friendship is short
She opens up to reach out
and every hand is engaged
Yet she cuddles the wide horizon
which mummy planted in her

A little girl, an iron of yore -
she won't forget the boisterous lore
A fringe pastime, a deeply fright -
she can’t contain the rash sight
which daddy painted for her

This little girl, that tiny hand
will bring the battle-ship to shore
But if you want the anchor space
or like to stretch in case it failed
a mum, a dad may never do.