Beneath the silver moon's ethereal glow,
A lone tree perched on a hill did grow.
Patiently awaiting its next confessor,
A little girl ascended, a soul in distress.
As raindrops fell, a cleansing embrace,
Washing away the pain, leaving no trace.
Blood mingled with the tears of the sky,
A haunting scene as the end drew nigh.
A rope, a cruel partner in this wretched dance,
Around her neck, a symbol of life's last chance.
She lingered in the balance, tethered to fate,
Every passing car, a harbinger of too little, too late.
Yet, they came and went, indifferent to despair,
Each departure a silent, heart-wrenching affair.
No Samaritan's hand reached out to save,
Abandoned to the night, a soul at the brink of the grave.
Now departed from this world, the girl so small,
Her once-green eyes turned vacant, devoid of all.
Her tan skin, once kissed by the sun's warm glow,
Now pale, as the moonlight cast a spectral shadow.
The rain ceased, unveiling the lunar grace,
A solemn witness to life's tragic embrace.
Gone forever, she slipped into the night,
A poignant tale beneath the moon's cold light.
