The Stranger

I take the picture in my hand
Looking down at a stranger
A little girl almost three
Unaware of future danger.
In a little pink dress
She swings from a tree
Hair glistening in the sun
She seems so free
Who would have known this little girl
Would grow up to be behind bars
She gave up on being good
She never reached for the stars.
She was twenty-eight that awful day
when she hit a pedestrian
And she was thirty-two four years after
When she got her life back again.
But the girl chose a darker path
And pays now every day
Wishing for a better life
Wishing for a way.