Udita

Oh, what a grief!
Of a cute little girl.
With blue nice eyes,
Hair with curls.

Nothing she has,
A poor little child.
She roams alone,
With a voice so mild.

One winter night,
Alone on a street.
Wearing torn shoes,
And ice-cold feet.

She was too small,
To bear her hunger.
She begged from all,
But she was fed with anger.

She felt very tired,
She slept in the dark.
Next day her body,
Was found from a park.

She died out of cold,
Her face was so pretty,
People thought her name,
Might be BEAUTY.

Oh, what a grief!
Of a cute little girl.
With blue nice eyes,
Hair with curls.

Nothing she has,
A poor little child.
She roams alone,
With a voice so mild.

One winter night,
Alone on a street.
Wearing torn shoes,
And ice-cold feet.

She was too small,
To bear her hunger.
She begged from all,
But she was fed with anger.

She felt very tired,
She slept in the dark.
Next day her body,
Was found from a park.

She died out of cold,
Her face was so pretty,
People thought her name,
Might be BEAUTY.

Oh, what a grief!
Of a cute little girl.
With blue nice eyes,
Hair with curls.

Nothing she has,
A poor little child.
She roams alone,
With a voice so mild.

One winter night,
Alone on a street.
Wearing torn shoes,
And ice-cold feet.

She was too small,
To bear her hunger.
She begged from all,
But she was fed with anger.

She felt very tired,
She slept in the dark.
Next day her body,
Was found from a park.

She died out of cold,
Her face was so pretty,
People thought her name,
Might be BEAUTY.