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Monday, January 4, 2016


It was a clear, windy day,
Clouds floated by
The summer was well on its way
Autumn still a bit shy

The park was full of color
Of flowers, paint and clothes
A child in red and blue attire
Frolicking in the balmy day

He saw a flower big and brighter
Swaying in the golden light
And with his mother in his mind
He plucked it out, and jumped in joy

He ran towards her
Sitting in the shade
Seeing him, she spread her wings
A harbinger for the warmest things

Before he reached her, he fell,
Stopped, not by stones, but bullets, fell.
The satanic sounds of guns roaring
The pleading sounds of men soaring
The utter hell of a mother holding close,

Her child, with a blood red rose.