"This is for Sale"

A man clad in black stands in the snow, back turned to the listener.
"This is for Sale" the somber tone tolls.

It's a child's crib, out of place in the black on blacked out windows. The pink of the bars that wrap around to keep the potential inhabitant safe seem out of place. There is nothing to protect anymore, and it seems that the crib, knowing this, has let itself fall to pieces. There is nothing that could fix this crib,

Could it be that the child is just grown? Perhaps the family received another as a gift and just needs one to go? It's possible, but I think the voice tolls somber because what should not happen has happened. Why? Why would this happen? Could it be possible that such horror would befall one so innocent? Apparently so. Indeed, the world is full of the tragedies that befall children, the horror that seeps inward to consume their innocence.