Little Day.

My youthful days not known,
stolen when my twisted back was turned.
Weighed down with sinkers of shame;
drowned in the river at the end of the lane.

New blood the only way,
little Day.

Leave me on that windswept dune
aside my sister, so brave.
You can place orchids on our ashen grave
but nothing will ever grow.

We are spirits of the nameless,
never born.