She stares at the bus, as it passed by.
Into the classroom window she peeks, when tears role down her messy cheeks.
My empathy blazes, I run to her and say,
“Hey, little angel, don’t cry, God has something special planned for you.”
And at the same time my heart weeps,
As I try to dawn conceivable hope upon her.
She gives me a sketchy smile,
And once more engages herself in washing the canteen’s utensils.