Each morning I watched her with pity -
An epitome of a child that was born guilty.
The street was her home -
A place she learnt to survive on her own.
As other children head to school,
I watched as she arrange her hawking tool.
She became to her family: A bread winner,
Wearing the heavy shadow of a Father.
Her voice resonates each morning
As she embarks on her prayer of mourning.
With a voice spiced with sorrow,
She prays for a better tommorow.
For today is another sad story,
A story that is in sharp contrast to her name- Glory.
She hope to someday be like her mates-
Happy, free and food on her plate.
She was a prisoner of fate,
Convicted long before her birthdate.
Guilty for a wrong she knows nothing about.
But, for being a product of her parents make-out.
Having children with no plans for them all,
Should be a crime purnish able by law.
Don't just plan to have kids,
Plan also to meet their needs.

This is so touching.

this is my favourite