By Euphedra Aster
The posters spread out on the street of death's cost,
The posters stated a little girl was lost,
The parents sob tears of wet, cold grief,
For their daughter's departure was beyond belief,
Gone into the woods, was the old lady's cry,
Nobody believed her; she had one lazy eye.
The crafter had said he'd seen her leave with a boy,
But who would believe a man who sold just one kind of toy?
The parents believed she would come home to them,
For she was their ruby, their emerald, their gem,
Her smile lit the sky; just follow the sun,
Then they would know that their daughter was done.
YOU ARE READING
Walking Into Black
PoetryDon't fear death. It does nothing for you. Death is at every turn; the challenge is if you choose to accept it or not. Don't fear pain. Pain is how you learn. Pain is the side-effect of life. If you live life fearing getting hurt...can you tr...
