The Orphan
by Jessica, age 17

She sits there all alone
On the cold stone step
Waiting-
for what would never come.
The biting wind nips at her youthful fingers
wrapped tightly around a ripped cloth doll.
Her soft brown curls dance in the breeze,
She shivers.
Her thin lips have turned blue in the extreme chill
for her dark eyes dart to and fro in search
for what would never be there.