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Lucy Atkinson Jan 2015
A year gone past she met him there,
She met him by the brook,
Perhaps there to steal away with him
Or recover the heart he took.

She was a child,a sweet young girl,
Poisoned by her heart,
Dammed to cry her foolish tears,
Dammed by this sinful art.

It's true he had more years than her,
How many know one knew,
For he was a stranger in these parts,
A stranger "just passing through"

He murdered innocence with skilful eyes,
Well practiced eyes I thought,
And told her "he would love her always"
At least until he got caught.

She was a fool who could not see,
The truth that he did hide,
The angels cage of peaceful dove,
Held the raven deep inside.

A year gone past she met him there,
She met him with her hope,
And I watched her,my sister there,
As he bound her love with rope.

A rope that cut and burned and bound,
A scream that she let fly,
As it went tight and ceased to move,
As all time passed her by.

A week gone passed I met him there,
I met him at the brook,
To scream and shout and hurt him there
To avenge the life he took.

— The End —