A whisper rustles in the trees,
murmurs vibrate at twice the speed,
the shadows lurking,
shadows of trees smirking,
at the fear,
a fear beauteous on one such a dear.

But the trees have got it all wrong,
you are the one to be smug all along,
for the fear lies not in your heart but upon your face,
they are now to fear the space,
your presence your being is all very there, from the pale of your skin and the auburn of your hair.

With every blink you awake ancient trees,
as their young and wives make fear stricken pleas,
the forest once scary now lacks its tack,
for you are the daughter of the dead lumberjack.

Her tears reflect a million sorrows,
his death reflects a million lost tomorrows.
A father, a son,his wife’s only one,
his child’s life had only just begun,

But he would not be there.

Blood curdling screams at the loss of her lover.
A gaping hole in her heart never to be filled by another.
But it’s okay just stay alert,
and you won’t face this bitter hurt.
All to be done is hands,face,space,

But no one will ever fill his place.

Just another number, on another chart,
just another wound to another heart.

Just another hand to hold.

By a brave woman, not family,
no, not family.

This woman once had a dream to become a nurse,
yet she never foretold this challenging curse,
in the mirror she saw the grim reaper,
but she was rather quite the opposite.

But it’s hard to tell when lack of life takes over it.

She goes home, and strips off her scrubs,
and she like his widowed wife,
uncontrollably blubs.

For she, has lost him too.

A man she never knew.