I wake in the night to the sound of a voice,
A little girl stands at the door.
I motion for her to come sit by me.
Her clothes are tattered and worn.
Sitting by me, head lowered and still,
She speaks without moving her lips.
She tells me of how she was abused,
Punished with words and whips.
She tells me she is eleven years old,
And was beaten since she was five.
Endured more than any child should,
And still, the suffering thrives.
Her parents are saddened and miss her so,
They cry rivers, oceans of sorrow.
She asks me to help her to tell them of her.
She would be twelve tomorrow.
Knowing what it is I must do,
I pick up the phone and dial.
She tells me the man's name,
Waves and leaves carrying a sweet smile.
I tell her parents, and the police,
That she came to me in the night.
I tell them how it was she was killed,
And she says she is all right.
All of their eyes fill up with tears
As I tell them of her death
I speak the words the came out of her last
Before she took her last breath.
"I know I am going to die here
I know what will happen to me
Just watch over my mom and dad
When I die, Heaven is where I want to be."
Of all the murders comitted,
Children are targeted more oft.
Why does this happen to the innocent?
When will the killing stop?