• Please excuse my morbid ways
    For this tale needs to be told
    And to leave out just one detail
    Would be so very bold

    This story begins on a Tuesday
    The third day of the week
    When all the world stopped for her-
    The tiny girl in pink

    Her dress made of the finest silk
    White ribbons in her hair
    You could get a glimpse of her
    If only you would dare

    For she was a predestined child
    Condemned to tragedy
    Since she first learned to talk
    She spoke such blasphemy

    Her mother shushed her every word
    Her father threw her out
    The town rejected her existence
    Her tears could end a drought

    And so she imprudently plays
    On the sleek river bed
    Testing her feeble balance
    Attempting the unsaid

    Predictably losing her poise,
    Falling beneath the stream,
    She is swiftly swept away
    By her formidable, ceaseless dream

    Her body is found distantly cold
    Her eyes forever closed
    Her mouth never to speak the secrets
    That only she will ever know