The Pale and Dirty Stone
Whose stone is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite angry though.
She was cross like a dark potato.
I watch her pace. I cry hello.
She gives her stone a shake,
And screams I’ve made a bad mistake.
The only other sound’s the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The stone is pale, dirty and deep,
But she has promises to keep,
Tormented with nightmares she never sleeps.
Revenge is a promise a girl should keep.
She rises from her cursed bed,
With thoughts of violence in her head,
A flash of rage and she sees red.
Without a pause I turned and fled.