Tiny hands that cling to coins with such hope
To reach out and find the machine is broke
Holding back the tears and trying to cope
No signs no warnings of closed for repairs

In a hurry not paying attention
Grasped the frying pan handle, to feel burn
Ignoring the feeling, apprehension
The hopes of what was to be slowly fades

Donning a coat to keep the cold away
Wrapped so tight you cannot feel the heart beat
Outer shell still looks good, inner frayed
No signs no warnings of closed for repairs

Tucked safely in bed alone in the night
Maybe lost the battle but not the fight

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