Martina

Martina
I can see Martina
As a child of three
In the sad seclusion
Of her nursery.
Go outside, Martina!
Go outside and play!
Never speak, Martina!
Put your toys away!
So her days were loveless
And her nights the same
When she cried for someone
No one ever came...
Is it any wonder
That her eyes grew cold?
That she loved nobody
And her young heart grew old?
All the children crying
From the age of three
Grow to be Martinas and me...