Say it.

Rosie Was A Little Girl

Rosie was a little girl
who sang a wild tune;
and wore the bluest socks
whose favourite month was June.

Rosie was a little girl
who smiled up at the sun
who skipped everywhere she went
and thought life a synonym of fun.

Rosie was a little girl
trapped in an old fish tank
whose food came down on ropes
with an order to ‘say thanks’.

Rosie was a little girl
whose happiness was incomplete.
At her they chipped away
until her sides became all neat.

Rosie was a little girl
who remembered to always say please
who instead of looking in a mirror
would fall down upon her knees.

Rosie was a little girl
whose knees were strong as sin.
When raised in half-happiness
could let nobody in.

Rosie was a little girl
who had a lot of friends
who danced with her by day
and were there until the end.

Rosie was a little girl
with faith as strong as manners
who though their purpose was to fix
when they came armed with hammers.

Rosie was a little girl
who tried to make amends
and tried to hold on tight
to what she thought the Lord had sent.

Rosie was a little girl
who learned to speak in rhyme
with pockets full of hope and pain
she died a very many times.

Rosie was a little girl
who couldn’t lift her soul
who lived out her days half-sad
and hurried growing old.

Rosie was a little girl
who didn’t die from shouts
or hammers in their hands
but quietly, alone she bled out.

Rosie was a little girl
who lived a metaphor;
became a bomb of pain and hurt;
and died a tragedy, dreaming of more.