A little girl all alone,
With no place to call home.
Her red shoes the only thing she owns,
Given to her by a grumpy old gnome.

I see it on their faces.
Something is not right.
A thinking look, fragile like lace,
A worrying sight.

All six of them look fine,
But I see behind those eyes.
They wonder what times left
Before one day he gulp dies….

Sometimes they’d joke,
With their nieces and nephews in the room.
And went they don’t, they sort of mope.
Face blank, mind thinking.
Worrying for the one they love the most.