Lemon grass tea cupped on the cool porch,
Though the young eyes are barren beyond belief —
The young eyes are glazed over with ghosts —
She is wiser than her single digit years.

Fingers run coconut oil through her tangled hair,
Humming a sweet sounding lullaby,
Her mother silently swears to bring back
The twinkle that was taken away —
But she fears that once familiar spark of curiosity
will only ever gleam during an evanescent dream.