There she sits on her lonely bench,
With gray dark clouds all around,
As gloomy as the look on her face.
She seems to be lost in thought, with
A worry upon her face; But what is that,
A single tear falls from where it not dare.
Hurriedly she begins to write but, pauses for
A moment and then vigorously, at it again
With tears dripping from her lavish eyes.
Unsuccessful wads of paper laying on the
Ground, till the thought hit her hard, like
A gigantic shock of Zeus’ lightning bolt.
The thoughts would come in a flash
And send the ink from her hand
Unto the willing, awaiting page.
Tears would run down her eyes,
The reoccurring thoughts of death,
Which would stare up from the pad.
Corpses of flesh in heaps of pile laying all
Around, carnage would come from her
hands to paint such a beautiful picture.
But oh how she wished it was not
The same deep, dark, morbid thoughts
She always writes upon her page.
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