LITTLE CINDERS:

Little Cinders, a favourite children´s tale,

Of a poor little girl, thin, lonely & very pale,

She who is treated badly by kin & one & all,

The story still happening in our sad daily pall.

Little Cinderella´s working fingers to the bone,

Slaves & chattels, in factories, shops & homes,

All from other countries & continents abroad,

To houses of ill repute to serve society´s lords.

Worked to the bone, unclean & barely ever fed,

Flea-ridden mattresses, their meager little beds,

Wages, only for the fare that brought them here,

Not knowing anyone & wishing their family near.

Young, pretty & they were promised an honest job,

To help ageing parents, but now hope´s been robbed,

Into silence are beaten, now they fear for their lives,

Working hard silently, one eye always on the knives.

Little modern day Cinders, of whom we´re not aware,

They´ll never find the prince & glass slipper never wear,

Unless society awakens & releases this grip so strong,

So all the little Cinders may go home where they belong.