The fragile old lady who needed repairs
To her front bedroom roof which was just up the stairs
She spoke oh so pleasantly to the man on the phone
Who assured her in no time the job would be done
When he came to the door she did not think to ask
For his qualifications to complete the task
As she showed him upstairs she gave never a thought
That like prey in a web she now was caught
He wasn’t concerned with her screams or her cries
His intent was control; she was fooled by his lies
When her tale was told of abuse and betrayal
Not one person condemned her for she was so frail.

What of the young child of eight, nine or ten
Out playing with friends down by the glen
With laughs full of mischief decides then to paddle
Takes off socks and shoes and goes up to her middle
Her friends start to wander and leave her behind
And a kindly young man offers shelter of kind
I have some sweet biscuits and a warm cup of tea
Its not very far, you can walk home with me
Then the child takes his hand and follows him home
Where her innocence is stolen, so quickly it’s gone!
The girl when she’s found is confused and afraid
But no one would blame her, no fault ever laid.

The young girl of years with a womanly look
Now this story I’m told is a different book
For if it should happen that abuse should befall her
The first thing that’s questioned is her behavior
How she was dressed or the style of her language
Did she walk the dark streets of the town or the village?
Was she friendly and smiling to the man who then raped her?
If so “she must want it” is the cry in the papers.

When the victim is blamed for the sins of the sinner
The damage is done, no one is the winner
For society will suffer, in the end after all
The victim spends a lifetime bashing her head against a wall.
Trying so hard to just make people hear
To find understanding, to let someone get near
Near enough to touch her, to let her trust again
To not be judged or take the blame for someone else’s gain.

Why is it so different?
The old lady or the child are not to blame then why the young girl so?
Is it not time to lay the blame where all the blame should go?
As long as the excuses are, it was what she was wearing
Then the victim will still ask herself, could I have stopped this? Daring
To question all the things she’d done, upon the fateful day
Her clothes, her manner questioned, in every little way.


Debi Meadows

Thornside, Australia

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