Little Miss Apricot…
Her body has begun to rot
She was unable to get away
So here she lies in decay
Little Miss Apricot…
Beneath a tree where her body will rot
A bad man took her young life
Filling her mother with pain and strife
Little Miss Apricot…
Here your body was left to rot
Mummy will make him pay
That man will die today
YOU ARE READING
A Leather-Bound Journal
PoetryYou found an old journal tucked away in the attic of your new house. It was very tiny, very small, and only seven of the pages were used. On each page, was a simple poem. But each poem told a story. -------------------- All Rights Reserved.
