He struck off into the park
but at ten to 3 was himself struck
by the rotting branch of an old maple tree.
He was sat weeping mid-stride.
He might've sat beneath that tree,
lifted his eyes to the cold city skies
to script a new constellation of designs.
But he was sat weeping mid-stride.
He might've been killed outright.
But he was sat weeping mid-stride.
His mind will never be what it might have been.
He was sat weeping mid-stride.
but at ten to 3 was himself struck
by the rotting branch of an old maple tree.
He was sat weeping mid-stride.
He might've sat beneath that tree,
lifted his eyes to the cold city skies
to script a new constellation of designs.
But he was sat weeping mid-stride.
He might've been killed outright.
But he was sat weeping mid-stride.
His mind will never be what it might have been.
He was sat weeping mid-stride.
Poor Sasha! You tell a compelling story, and make the reader feel for his predicament.
ReplyDeleteThanks. Feels weird asking for fluff, but it's too new for more.
ReplyDelete