There’s the young children
Rung by the given.
Started smoking when he was five,
And was born with same eyes
Same eyes.
Put it at that as he cries,
Because He has no recollection
Of the trouble of his demise
The demise
That drives him crazy.
He begged, “ Get this hand
Off my face!”
I need to leave this place.
From what it has become of me.

Never sweep away what I remember
The secret of that night.
He told me of his plight
To another ember
Soul.
You told me what happened that day
That’s what made my plight to you.
And now I have another soul
To hold.
Held me close.

But in a sudden doze, my clothes
Were gone.
You made me a rose
With the thorns cut off
Why does snow that froze
Have to be so cruel?

I had a dream my daddy died
But I could talk to him.
I still spied
But it was a denial so dim.
Gone, was my pride
Sneaking around was his only
Crimson love.
But I suppose,
This love is blind,

His windy rose









Died.