She was so full of sun,
and happiness,
and love.
So carefree.
She was only seven
And she wore her star.
To her it was an emblem of power.
Until the day when the men came,
and stole her light away.
And her star?
It lies in the dust with all the other broken dreams.
At first it was all but a game
of hunger, sickness and death.
Of the cat and mouse.
Until they they took her soul away.
And what was left was an eggshell.
A pitiful scrap heap of defeated white.
That clung to the barbed wire
of her chicken cage.
Until the smokestacks took her eggshell,
and it floated away
*New and improved version!*
