(A tribute to lost children)

I was born in an August

And I died in a March

Children deserve splendid summers

My guardian angels slept and never knew

The pain and misery they put me through

Those words of spite, those tearful nights

As punches rained down, on my empty frame

They saw my pinched face, they knew my pain

No long summer days, just August sighs with

Locked doors, and kept out of sight of

Caring friends, who shared their bread

Whilst I lay shivering on my pee stained bed

Alone, frightened, and unfed,

Waiting for the handle to turn

And then to be pulled and pushed again

Pushed and punched, then locked away for

Another turn, another day then

Water streaming down my throat, depths below

Hands above, holding me down until I choked

Then back to my lonely room and eating salt

Where were those caring souls,

Whose jobs defined to watch for

Sights, and sounds and signs

To intervene, to stop my screams,

To hold me close for just one night

To hold my hand, and touch my face

With gentleness and not just rage

The final blow when it came, brought end for me

And shame for them, and yet

No lessons learnt, one child in vain,

Others waiting in the lane.

Summer is not just holidays,

For some it means abuse, neglect, ongoing pain then

More excuses, more commitments, nothing done.

I was just another one,

Others waiting in the lane.