In a wee bit old town in the summer of ‘97,
A baby girl was born and named ‘heaven’.
Her mother cuddled her every minute, her father told her stories
But all she did was stare at the trees.
She didn’t laugh, or cry, or smile, or talk
and the townspeople had begun to call her a ‘rock’.
Mama and Papa tried everything they could,
from blowing raspberries to cart wheeling in a greenwood.
But nothing affected the little girl,
And the Mayor had begun to call her a ‘churl’.
Soon, everyone gave up on her,
But her parents decided to consult a doctor.
And so they went with high hopes to the town of Trylorn,
But came back in tears when the doctor said,”She was never meant to be born.”
They looked down at their daughter sitting by their side,
Who just stared at them, cold-eyed.
Years went by and she remained the same,
Until the day her parents called her a shame to the family’s name.
That night, for the first time, she shed silent tears,
And now they had come true- her fears.
So she picked up the knife from her bed stand
And put her life to an end.