How could I have known
As I started down the stairs,
What awaited at the bottom
As I headed out for prayers ?
With my bible in my hand,
And my purse and clean church shoes,
I had only simple plans,
Not expecting such abuse.
As I reached the small foyer,
I expected to go out,
When a terrible scream came at me,
And accusing, angry shouts !
And my aged grey-haired mother,
Rushed at me in a rage !
She tore my bible from me,
And inspected every page.
"Where's my money?" mother shouted,
As I stood there breathlessly;
I could not say a word,
As this nightmare befell me.
And my aged, crippled mother,
Tore at my blouse and shoes,
She was incoherent,
And I was shocked, bemused.
What I did not know then,
Was I had been selected,
To take the blame for crimes,
The thief, McSweeney, crafted.
I stood there stiff and breathless,
As my life was torn apart,
Dawn McSweeney robbed my parents,
And stuck a dagger in my heart.
As my mother shrieked and cursed me,
I attempted to get help;
I managed to get hold of
The phone upon the shelf.
And my mother grabbed the phone,
And we wrestled - and I won.
I climbed up three small steps,
And I dialled 911.
I hoped police would rescue;
I hoped they'd help make peace
Of this terrible injustice -
But they came -
And helped the thief !
So, as the years go by,
I devote my life to justice,
Exposing all the cruelty
Dawn McSweeney brought upon us.
My song reflects the agony
Of victims everywhere,
Who suffer loss and sorrow,
Because nobody cares.
And criminals of every kind
Just laugh and spit on us,
Because police and governments
Care not a whit for us.
Phyllis Carter
Montreal, Quebec, Canada
January 13, 2013
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