the forsythia is in bloom
and the birds twitter among her branches
lovely ones, with white bellies

they scatter when he approaches
and grabs a branch,
twisting it off,
petals floating to the wet ground below

oh, stolen innocence
easter sunday spinning in a yellow church dress
the little girl is laid in her grave
and covered by a flock of rabbits
sniffing about her blank eyes

how he loved those blank, blank eyes