A tornado is coming young Dorothy,
It is planning when and where,
But no matter when, my child, it will take us there.
To the land beyond the rainbows,
To the world among the clouds,
To the city made of emerald,
My child, I have no doubts.
The storm has come young Dorothy,
So grab your bags and coat,
It is time to leave my child,
Now it's time to go.
I write this now young Dorothy,
With an oh so heavy heart.
My child there was no city,
I lied right from the start.
Dorothy you were sick,
Your mind was not all there.
I had to give you hope,
Something to help you prepare.
Young Dorothy didn't survive,
The twister tore her up.
My child now dead and gone,
No longer feels any hurt.
I did what I felt was right,
For my sweet young innocent child.
I had to save her somehow,
At last I can say I tried.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for the Pained
Thơ caA collection of words both happy and sad strewn together to create awful poetry.
