A sweet little girl stands among

Half-pulled red ribbons and green paper

While carols are joyously sung,

The air perfumed with pine-fresh vapor.

With all the world upon her lap,

She waits impatient to unwrap.

A sweet little girl stands among

A half-red desert, frosted cold.

All alone, though very young,

Her eyes betray that she is old.

So the world betrays her fragile trust,

And leaves her broken in the dust.

A sweet little girl stands among

The debris of her dinner on the floor,

Her face aching, her dignity stung,

Confused and tearful, bruised and sore.

For the world has picked her place on earth,

And stripped her of all human worth.

A sweet little girl stands among

A wreckage of bedsheets, ripped and torn.

Her mouth is sealed against her tongue,

Her body numbed by pain and scorn.

And the world has spat upon her face

That she be prisoner in this place.

A sweet little girl, just like yours,

Who stands painted red by wars,

Bloody battles that were never hers,

Tucked away in long-lost drawers,

And she kneels there on all fours

And we keep searching, searching for more.