THE BULLYING GAME
By: Gordon Whittaker
I took a snapshot of my little tot
then gently lifted her out of her cot
she was like a feather in my arms,
and oh how I fell for those baby charms.
Those small delicate fingers and screwed up tiny toes,
the aroma of a newborn baby,
her beautiful wrinkled nose.
Now fifteen years further on,
life is certainly not the same.
My girl comes home from school with her head hung down in shame.
Today once more she's been the victim
of the bullying game.
