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Sheila Stead

Little lost chidren

Little lost children of the land,
Who will take hold of their hand.
Who will lead them over life's rough places,
Mother's at bingo, dads at the races.

They see the world through lonely eyes,
No one hears their cries.
Social workers face a locked door,
Who can they, their troubles pour.

Little lost children when you have grown,
When you have children of your own.
Will you guide them over lifes rough places,
Or will mum be at bingo, dad at the races

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