Little Lemonade Girl

lemoade-girl
Image courtesy, pixabay.com

Little Lemonade girl,
Set up in a sunny spot,
Sitting on the curb side,
Watching what little girls should not.

 

There’s the neighborhood boy,
Taking a stone to pelt a dog,
There’s the local hoodlum,
Selling baggies full of pot.

 

There’s a big parked car,
Shaking from side to side,
And the drunken deadbeat dad,
Who’ll whip your little hide.

 

There was the thieving watchman,
Who stole from the till at night,
Come morning, he would lie,
To the widow owner with weak sight.

 

There was the little brown cat,
Tied by the tail to the rail,
While nasty rascals sharpened knives,
To cause pain and to impale.

 

There was the open window,
Through which came muffled screams,
Dull thuds and dragging sounds,
Though none lived there, it seems.

 

There was the cruel grey world,
Unmerciful and without repose,
But little lemonade girl,
Stood steadfast in her cause.

 

As she packed her wares,
As evening had come about,
A lanky shaky shadow came,
And stretched his bony hand out.

 

Upon it sat some candy,
Looking innocent as can be,
Sparkling in the twilight rays,
The colour of amber honey.

 

Tempted by the glossy treat,
She moved to accept the offer,
In a trice she was gagged and gone,
And that was the last we heard of her.

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