I see this girl every day,
But seldom with a smile on her face.
The limp motion of her body;
The mourning in her gaze.

I wonder why she cries at night,
For her eyes are always puffy.
She has everything she wants,
Because she's got the money.

I know her mother acts all day,
She comes on the telly at nine.
Maybe she feels lonely,
Or maybe she's just fine.

But sometimes I see her huddle up
In a corner of an empty room.
Her eyes fixed on the wall in front,
Dreaming, I assume.

I tried asking her once or twice,
Why she didn't talked much.
She never replied, just averted her eyes
And shied away from my touch.

I probably should stop asking,
I don't want to hurt her more.
Just hope she won't ascend the stairs,
But welcome instead, the ground floor.