She had a pink unicorn tat
running in a trail of pixie-stardust,
emblazed on her upper left shoulder.
Despite the ravages
up and down
her scarred arms,
she still kept the eyes
of a newborn doe.
Wide and brilliant,
but dimmed when
she rode the horse.
I cried all my reserves
when I heard
she crossed over
to the land of fantasy,
the resting place
for single-horned
animal lovers.
In no way,
did that sweet
little
dear girl
deserve such
a tragic ending.
Strangely now,
I shiver
when I look up
at the million twinkling stars,
I think of Becky
and her sad beginning.