Wandering past Thousand Oaks,
There mines eyes met many folks
And among them was an old man
Whose beard was as white as a Swan,
Whose voice, was as rough as of a Crow
Whose cinder-like eyes all exuded woe.
Hey old folk, hey old folk, hey old folk,
Unto him I called as he laid by the Oak.
Unto me of thy woe speak If thee can,
But softly replied he, "look, young man,
When in days to come old you grow
I pray of woe thee may never know.
For lest thou ever, the less you'll talk.
Not far off lies my child as still as a rock,
For a ******* came, shooting he began;
And my dear child away couldn't run
That now her coldness thrice as of snow
Hath immersed my poor soul in sorrow."
At this, no more could I talk nor walk,
But grew mute and motionless as a rock
When said he, "if we had not a single gun,
Perhaps dear life would truly be fun."
Then vanished he, leavin' me in sorrow
That thee, dear reader might never know.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California, USA.
This poem hath been born of the shooting that took place yester night at Thousand Oaks, a place not so far from where I currently dwell. I wholeheartedly convey my prayers to whoever lost someone there. I wish there's something more I could offer but since there's naught, I pray this ink from a quill of mine might soothe a soul of thine. May God bless ye and strengthen ye all.
#Gun shooting #Death #Thousand Oaks