Child, child, dear little child .
With clutching, gentle fingers,
Brown, white, cream or in between –
Who cares as love between-us springs.

Child with trailing clouds of glory,
How tragic that you will see so little;
By age five you will probably have died
And few will mourn your passing.

Child of the underprivileged poor,
Not the reject of an affluent society,
A well beloved little soul for whom
There was nothing for succour or saving.

Entwining grubby little fingers in mine
Tugging at my heart strings as you did so _
Oh little child and gentle child
I will do what I can for your good.

Rejected child of affluence
You have a call on my sympathy too,
The Rights of the Child must prevail
Anarchy and chaos if it is otherwise.


Pam Barrington MBE

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