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In Church One Sunday
One Sunday in the church down the street,
I saw a little girl ever so sweet,
Dressed all in white, she looked so neat,
from the top of her head, down to her feet.
She sat very still, not moving a hair,
As I stood there, in the door, only able to stare,
I didn't move, something wouldn't let me dare,
To break the soft silence, I somehow, couldn't bare.
Then, in the silence, I heard a soft sigh,
And I realized, the child had started to cry,
With each soft sob, my sunlight, faded, seemed to die,
Until my heart along with her, seemed to cry.
Why was she crying, I just had to find out,
If someone had hurt her I would go after the lout,
I started down the aisle, with many a doubt,
After all, "Who are you?", she would probably shout.
But, as I reached the pew in which she sat,
She looked up at me with the bluest eyes that I 've seen yet,
She had to be the most beautiful child on the face of the earth, I'd have bet,
But the sorrow in her face was the worst I think I've ever met.
I smiled, and sat down next to her,
She said, "I'm sorry if I bothered you, sir."
I knew deep down she wasn't the type of child to disturb,
She said, "I knew of no better place to turn."
I told her not to worry, that she hadn't bothered me,
I said, "Because, I once had a little girl, like you, you see."
And I thought, my little girl would be about the same age as she,
I realized, the hurt of losing her, was still very keen.
She asked me what had happened to my little girl,
So I told her how my wife had beaten our little girl,
My eyes began to water, and everything became a blur,
And the hurt and pain, surrounded me in a silent whirl.
I could see again the woman I married, on that night so wild,
I remembered the suffering all through the long trial,
I remembered the funeral, and the people, as around me they filed,
To see the dead body of my little lost child.
I sat there and let everything out,
When I had finished she looked like she would like to strike out,
I laid one hand on hers and said in doubt,
Would you like to tell me what your crying was about.
She told me that I wouldn't really like to hear,
She told me most of it was only from her fear,
Then she told me it was her step-father, so I drew near,
Her voice became sad, and devoid of any cheer.
Her father had died, and her mother had remarried,
And her step-father's child her mother now carried,
She knew she was hated by the man her mother had married,
And she cried and said her life was now so scary.
She said that now she couldn't do anything right,
That everyday now there was always a fight,
She said that now she tries to stay out of sight,
She said she hated him with all her might.
I wanted to hold her and stop her from crying,
My heart seemed to be bleeding, I felt it was dying,
I longed to know more, but I didn't want to seem prying,
I told her it would all work out, I just hope I wasn't lying.
We sat, and talked on for a little while longer,
Strange, but the more we talked, the more I felt stronger,
I knew now that only a child, could fill that empty hole in my heart,
With a renewed sense of wonder, I realized I was ready, a new life to start.
We never got around to asking each other's names,
But since that day, I haven't been quite the same,
I have walked this city over, searching in vain,
For a little girl, dressed in white, without a name.
I've asked all the members, if they have seen or knew,
Of the beautiful child with the eyes of blue,
But, each person so far says, they haven't a clue,
And some may doubt my sanity, but I know it's true.
That one Sunday, in our church, down the street,
I did see, a little girl ever so sweet,
Dressed all in white, and so very neat,
From the top of her little head, down to her feet.
by Pamlia Wall