A little girl sits on the golden sand.
Smile on her face, bottle in her hand.
Her eyes a’sparkle, large and black,
her dress in tatters on her back.
She is alone, yet still does she smile -
content to daydream here for a while.
Water’s in the bottle to quench her thirst
Mother’s in the sand, her poor body burst.
Dad? He protested once too much,
buried below he is lost as such.
Someone in a truck handed her a crust,
said,’There you go, kid, in God you can trust,’
then drove off left her sitting in the sand.
Smile on her face, bottle in her hand.

Has she a care on her innocent mind?
Does she understand about Mankind?
Will she get a meal before the sun goes down?
Will she ever sleep in a crisp nightgown?
Will she feel a kiss on her rosy face?
Does anyone care in this God damn’d place?
Oh, there’s the oil … I forgot about that,
Oil makes multinationals big and fat
Will they give her a nickel or a dime?
Do they give a rhythm or a rhyme
That come morning she’s gonna be three -
No home no present, no cake she’ll see?
They’ll leave her to sit in the golden sand,
Tears on her face, bottle in her hand.

© griffonner 2026