With my back to the night sky
A candle flickering in an upstairs window
The smell of fresh cut grass fills the air
My eyes start to well as I cry
Were are you I sigh
My mascara is running down my cheeks
In long black streaks
Falling onto my new dress
A chill runs right down my spine
The wind is whistling in my ears
I feel a hand gripping my shoulder
I freeze in mortal fear
Transfixed to the spot
My heart pounding
Is this my lot?
Then I hear a loud shriek
Tea come and get it before its cold
Is all you can say?
In your evil little way
No reproduction without permission Copyright Poemmaker 2008