"Why are thee crying?" She then said to me,
by David L. Wilson
Thou tales of angels my heart can not bear.
My old soul corrupts, decayed form indeed;
My dead eyes turn to dust from her bright stare
My Grand little girl then climbs on my chair,
As I fall to sleep a sweet song she sings.
My soul flies to a Kitten unaware,
Its soul departed so its life I bring,
I open new eyes to see her take me,
"Daddy it's pop pop" she proclaims, "Meow!"
The adults that she tells smile sheepishly.
I bring forth my claws and my eyes be aflame;
For in this life I shall be not hollow,
and thy rats that draw near her I shall swallow!