I                          think
of      these    little      children
these    weeping    angels    their
lives    stolen      from    this
earth      by a
madman's
bullets and when I think of the
Twenty I think of their families but mostly their
words I just want Christmas I just want to have Christmas
And then I think of their homes each of twenty trees
Sheltering gifts with no owners, sheltering them as if
To protect the memory of the innocents, lonely presents
Can now only shine and glimmer with all their gaudy
Holiday glory but no longer a jolly happy shine now it's
More a glaring harsh shimmer and shine sad, and cheap
Compared to the lives of the little ones these presents may
Be repurposed regifted, or set aside but their original and
True owners shall nevermore know the joy they can bring

Each night will she relentlessly cry
Until
her
inevitable
*suicide