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She is the first child, the one and only, 

The cherished grandchild of the family. 

We remember her as a cute little baby, 

Like the morning sun painting the sky so brightly. 

 

One afternoon, her mother called her to bathe, 

But as the water spilled, without her mother see, 

Her tiny little feet chose to flee, 

Toward my house, seeking sanctuary. 

 

Her steps raced against the ticking clock, 

Shortening the distance with each tick-tock. 

As fast as she could, she made her escape, 

Dodging the evening chill and water’s scrape. 

 

With only a diaper as her humor, 

She entered the scene, her joy a charmer. 

Her laughter rang out, echoing wide, 

A melody matched by her hurried stride. 

 

Even my father joined in her play, 

Guiding her steps as her mother found a way. 

She carved her mark as treasure in our days, 

A morning sun in her innocent ways. 

 

Yet the bright skies grew dim, 

And a cold distance grew firm. 

A stone was hurled, striking her tender lips, 

She froze as tears began to drip. 

 

The air grew heavy, the light turned gray, 

No one could see the phantom  at play. 

Like prey caught in a predator’s snare, 

She endured what no child should bear. 

 

Perhaps her mother didn’t yet know her role, 

A tempest within, beyond her control. 

Uncontrollable actions, emotions untamed, 

The whispers of “depression” carried her name. 

 

Silence fell upon her youthful quips, still, 

The little girl not afraid to spill, 

Through the light that lingers in her stare, voicing her plea, 

“What fault lies in me?” 

 

She may not know, the wound on her lips

Took time to heal, beneath stitches' grip.

Releasing words, to find her voice again,

To embrace the dawn with love surreal, unbroken refrain.