There is a little girl upstairs
I ask, “can she come out to play?”
“No, no, not today. Maybe some other time?
There’s work to be done before time gets away.
There is money to be made and others who need aid.
The time is just not right… I’m afraid.”
“Ok… maybe another day, I say…”
As I busy myself with menial things
Running errands, cleaning, working
What little joy these things bring…
A few days later I return…”Can she come out yet?”
“She’s sleeping….All that work has her tired, I bet.”
Drained and exhausted from all of the hustle
Never playing… or singing…It’s as though she’s been muzzled
Quietly letting the time just go by
Letting the little girl in her die….
