The little girl came back
to her happy hometown.
There reigned a tyrant
who's hands requires
the people to never cry.
In the middle of the square,
the little girl's fair
father motionless lying
on his smiling face.
He was bruised;
He was battered;
badly injured
all over.
But the little girl's father
was a man who obeys law.
Even in death,
though tyranny dictates,
The dead body of her father,
Though miserable to look,
smiles at death's door.
The little girl smiled
as she was taught by her father.
On her cheek rained,
on a cloudless autumn evening.
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