There's Something in the Playground

There's something in the playground

There's something in the mix.

It's being poked by fingers

And pushed along with sticks.

There's something in the playground

That something's not quite right;

Groups of children whisper

Considering flight or fight.

That something moves so slowly,

Around the playground edge

Clinging to the fencing

And brushing along the hedge.

That something moves so quietly

And hovers around the bin.

It tries to eat inconspicuously,

Like eating is a sin.

The playground's nearly empty,

As the children run inside

But that something is still out there,

Trying its hardest to hide.

That something in the playground,

Is a child just needing a friend.

They want to run, to laugh, to play;

Not really wanting life to end.

That child in the playground

Is the one that needs our care

And there's one in every playground,

More than one, if we were fair.

But we look away and whisper,

We roll our eyes and cluck,

'Cause kids are so cruel and mean

And teachers just don't give a f...!