Larissa lived far away in an orphanage
It’s dirty and old, it’s cold as a fridge,
Leaking pipes and peeling paint
Broken windows without complaint.
Twenty four hours, in a rusty cot
Institutionalised now, she’s left to rot
Big beguiling eyes, skin haunting grey
Never the joy, to laugh and play.
Covered with only one dirty sheet
No Xmas sweets, no birthday treat;
Why be sentenced to languish like this
To live without love, or a comfort kiss.
Back and forth, she does rock
No pretty cloths, no party frock
Life without hope, just empty stare
No doll’s house, no cuddly bear.
Referred to by a number, not her name
Every day is sad, every day’s the same
Never a chance to run out side
No skipping games, no push bike ride.
Covered with only, one dirty sheet
Nothing to generate – any heat;
She is so hungry, lonely and afraid
Shivers in fear at the matron’s tirade.
Larissa has, never ever smiled
Just a pitiful shadow – of a little child,
Prolonged isolation, doesn’t stir
Nobody has ever, cared about her.
She looks intense with emptiness pure
The damage done, there isn’t a cure,
One day poor Larissa, just curled up and died
To mark her passing, a lone nurse cried.
