I was five hours through my trip of eight
When I saw through bug guts light tearing cloud
I was thinking about clips sent my way
Of her play with the offspring of her own
Laughing without regard for somber weight
Which hung on us like a funeral shroud
Her spirit was ready were it the day
She was prepared if then she would have flown
But how it closed with a coffin lid’s freight
What tears under such sorrow we allowed
In front of his daughter dying he lay
Soon enough I’d have his pictures alone
In the light I saw insects smashed to death
“Three hours left” I said under my breath
May 3, 2025
May 3, 2025 at 6:06 PM UTC
I was five hours through my trip of eight
When I saw through bug guts light tearing cloud
I was thinking about clips sent my way
Of her play with the offspring of her own
Laughing without regard for somber weight
Which hung on us like a funeral shroud
Her spirit was ready were it the day
She was prepared if then she would have flown
But how it closed with a coffin lid’s freight
What tears under such sorrow we allowed
In front of his daughter dying he lay
Soon enough I’d have his pictures alone
In the light I saw insects smashed to death
“Three hours left” I said under my breath