It was supposed to be a horror, but I'm not extremely good
with those, so I did my own thing.
Once upon a dreary, teary night,
Seemingly trite, yet there had never been
Such a night as this one was before,
I heard the window clattering a sweet melody
And turned about to be amazed and see
A little girl cowering in my door.
‘Twas something I had not believed possible,
To see this marble girl in my hovel,
Begging me, imploring with her eyes,
“Sir, mightn’t I have a piece of bread?”
This little girl, of nearly, barely four,
Sat down and cried; she hadn’t eaten
For one whole week, and all of her family,
All of her family had just up and died.
Down my face slid a tear, I fear,
Though most of that memory
Has been lost at sea—to remember,
I do not care.
Across the room strode I, glorious and pious like no other.
At her feet the halt occurred, staring down without one word—
We both were aware of what must take place here.
I leaned down, to her side, and her bottom lip quivered,
Her soul burst upward and cried. To my neck, she clung;
I inhaled her scent and gave a kiss, to be truthful it was
A sheer, magnificent bliss.
But alas, the time had come and duty called,
In her eyes I could see that she saw;
Again, she sat her granite body upon the floor
And bawled and cried and lied and died,
That poor little girl just died some more.
In my bosom I felt a swell, and thought: oh, what the Hell,
She is just an empty shell, why should I care anymore
For the worthless daughter of a worthless whore
On a worthless night to be read in worthless lore?
A well-aimed kick at her side, a nicely placed fist to the head,
And, my, oh my, that beautiful little girl, that little girl
Was completely dead.
Her newly-frail body fell to the floor,
To be read about in worthless lore
And sing a song of peace, I’m sure.
Could that possibly be the cure?
A song of peace and love and war?
She would love again,
Nevermore.
Of this, again, I am sure.
