She stole my ice cream

She stole my ice cream, it was hot
And she wanted it more than me.

I could have said no, but what uncle
Would do such a thing. Hers laid

On the pavement turning into a puddle
Of sluch. Her eyes showed the entrance

Of tears and what could I do? It was
Not a choice, there was no choice.

Her tiny hands reached up to mine and
The tears, forming in her eyes, ask

Me for my ice cream. There was no
Choice then. Only the hope that there

Would be no more sadness. I wanted
To see her smile more than any treat

I have ever wanted before. When she saw
I would not resist the tears began to dry,

And I, I was treated to her smile