In Wenlock's heart where whispers dwell,
A tale of sorrow, a tale to tell,
Of Alice Glaston, a child so bright,
Her laughter echoed through day and night.

Born beneath the gentle sky,
With dreams like clouds that floated high,
But fate took a turn as shadows grew,
Turning innocence to a darker hue.

Eleven springs she saw, in youth's embrace,
Yet life can be cruel, a twisted race,
In April's grip, that fateful day,
The world would watch as she was led away.

The gavel struck, and silence fell,
Innocent heart cast under a spell,
A whisper of justice, a murmur of dread,
For laws could not see the tears she shed.

Her spirit, a candle, flickering low,
In the eyes of the many, a heavy woe,
No longer a child, but a name in the books,
A ghost of the past where history looks.

For in her demise, a lesson we find,
Of mercy and kindness, so often maligned,
Let not her fate be forgotten in time,
But sing of her spirit, a sorrowful rhyme.

May the winds of Wenlock carry her truth,
A reminder of justice and lost childhood,
And though she was small, her story is grand,
An echo of heartbeats that life had planned.

So here we gather 'neath the twilight's grace,
To honor a soul, to remember her place,
In the tapestry woven of moments and dreams,
Alice Glaston, forever she beams.

| A tribute to Alice |