by Joanne Wood

Created on: September 08, 2008

I wonder if you'd still critique
If you knew what he'd done, until just last week.
The law is there to protect
Young or old from any sect.

His daughter, filled with deepest fear,
Finally told her teacher about father dear
His rambling hands and sickening acts
To us she later spilled the facts

So what if we got a little rough
He resisted arrest and acted tough
I wonder if wrong you'd say we are
If you sat and thought about her scar

The one you cannot see, inside
The one that affects the rest of her life
Every friend and every man
Judged against him, her biggest fan

He slipped and fell, or so we say
A kicking received whilst he lay
His hands he cut when he opened a door
A broken nose as he hit the floor

But in my mind I think of her
Darkened eyes and haunted stare
Mother sobbing as she listens
To what he did without omission

The law should protect a daughter and son
But without us would justice really be done?
I wonder if you'd still critique
He won't do it again, now or any week.

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