Hopewit

  Prelude Like you, I’m appalled beyond words at stories of child neglect, abuse and particularly trafficking. How can any man or woman risk their very soul by gratifying their physical lusts and greed at the expense of a child?? What justification could there ever be?                I decided to try expressing my disgust in a poem; the rhyme and metre would imitate children’s rope-skipping chants. ( Ap ples, peach es, pears , and plums / Tell me when your birth day comes .) To make its reading most effective, I envision ten-year-olds, a girl and a boy, twirling a rope and reciting in rhythm while another ten-rear-old girl in a red dress skips. A voice would be added at each verse making a chorus of protest. A film maybe?                I would value your reaction, criticism, advice. It’s a first draft.   I’M NOT, I’M NOT, I’M NOT A CLOWN ©   “go t’ y’r room!” her papa said “what’s gotten inta y’r woolly head” but she sneaked out through the back instead over the