A call after midnight
Ne'er does it bode well
Words, unexpected
Put a father's heart through hell
A smile unseen
Laughter never heard
Dreams of the future
Dashed with four words
A spring time born Lily
Sprouted 5th of May
Ten years were given
Then taken away
Oh to hold her, just once
Kiss her tender, sweet head
But nightmare words whispered...
Your daughter is dead
No comments:
Post a Comment