The Orphan

She looks nicely dressed, she whose age is seven years,
With silvered hanging tresses that belie her many cares.
They fall upon her shoulders and her beauty there prevails
To make her like a princess from the children’s fairy tales.
A complexion rose and clear, a graceful body slight,
A little neck so slender and eyes both shining bright.
Tender is her look, it is hiding something sad,
Thinks she of her mother, the warm kisses that she had?
Thinks she of her father, the one she hardly knew,
Who held her to his bosom and watched her as she grew?
She thinks about the morrow and what the stars foresee,
What Providence may do for her, and what her fate might be.
Still in early childhood, and she has lost the two,
Her mother dear and father, the ones who loved her true.
Her auntie and her uncles, all do what they can,
But who is like the mother to whom she often ran?
Every day is lost in wandering which way will she go,
Lose herself in dreams or on Nature’s path to go?
There’s a void within her heart bereft of mother’s care,
Love enough to fill the cosmos, a love beyond compare.
Her toys and her games, the friends she has in class,
Sometimes they can help her the lonely hours to pass;
But sometimes she is dreaming while of hope she has a spark,
The morning brings new life but at evening comes the dark.

Joseph Matar
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Translated from French: K.J.Mortimer