For the girl who was fraught with death
who followed it around like a martyr
with flowers in your
hair, and a pencil in your hand.
Did she reach for the moonlight
as she blinked in the face
of two familiar deathrattle eyes?
And for all your odes and well-wrought verses
were you prepared to leave
hand in hand with that spectre
when he grasped your hands in his?
And did she sigh
as the moon chilled the sky
and whisper
"I'd like to stay here,
just a little bit longer,
just a little longer, is all"
But Emmeline, with flowers in your hair,
dead ears caught your gentle cries
and you departed, the flowers falling from your hair,
to join the immortalized.
(A rough draft. If anyone knows the literary character this alludes to, I will be in awe of you for the rest of your life.)
