Rock-a-Bye-baby, in the tree top
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
They left you hanging there,
Safe, they thought.
The sun-seasoned breeze rocked you
Too-and-fro, too-and-fro.
And who could say that you were any less than innocent?
Twenty fruits in six sturdy trees,
If any one of them falls
Does it make
A sound?
It ripples whole oceans,
Storms blown all over America by the Big Bad Wolf,
We thought his breath
Could do little more than rustle the leaves.
Little did we know he would blow
Not-yet-ripe fruits to the ground.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
Down will come baby, cradle and all.
For the children of Sandy Hook Elementary School
Spoken word, as usual