(Hexsonnetta- iambic hexameter)


Awakened much too soon;
so premature that glow,
her budding mouth was closed.
So warm but without bloom;
so silent as the tomb,
the sound within her froze

Her marker leaves no joy
though flowers shadow where
her mom has left them there.
A faded, rattled toy_
the sun a faithful ploy
as if it somehow cared.

And so my rose is gone
and in my heart; no song.