Little Old Girl

Little girl

Who smiles sweetly to me

Your young skin so wrinkled

Your hands and face are wind worn and cracked

A life spent exposed to the cold dry elements

Born

Poor are you

An eight-year-old girl

In an eighty-year-old body

You smile and in your large eyes

So sad and so serene

You know

Wisdom

That no book holds

Of what your ancestors have told

And

Tears come to your eyes

As we give you a soft stuffed bunny rabbit

To keep and to hold

You take it home

Once

But

Your proud mom

Makes you bring it back again

To us in tears