a/n: This poem has been on Lit.org before, but I deleted it from the archive some time ago. I've decided it's time to bring it back. (at least this time it won't have any spelling errors, I hope)
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_Miscarriage of Justice_
Away in the darkness, a young mother cried;
Alone in the gutter, her baby had died.
The alley was dirty; there was grime on her skin;
And through her torn clothing, her arms were too thin.
On the main road nearby, her whimpers were heard,
But people were busy; her cries were ignored.
Her blood on the kerb mixed with the grime;
It gave the appearance of a terrible crime.
She was frightened and cold; too much so to run,
She crouched there in misery, fear, and alone.
She was found the next day, by a bored group of kids,
Her body was dragged, and then punched and then kicked.
The police, when they found her, had nothing to show:
They took her away, and named her Jane Doe.
But the death of a low-life in the back-alley wastes
Didn't warrant the time to open a case.
Meanwhile her parents are still searching today
For the girl who just vanished after running away.
Spudley Strikes Again