She was a girl with a suitcase full of dreams
With a ticket to ride for a visit
To a land of kings and queens
A bolting spirit looking to be lost in transit
The wind, the road and the way
And a bus named desire
Lure the young runaway
Pretty in polka dots, ancient expired
Waiting not the wrath of God
Her lament not to see a land again
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow
Dark shadows scorpion is left behind
The road home is but a dream
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow
Hang on to your hat and carry on
Abbadon’s sword is buried in hell
Nostalgia takes the form of a swan
Graceful satire flight from evils death knell
Now a lady in waiting, waiting at the bus stop
Her golden curls flying in the wind
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow
A waiting game she dare not lose
Returning to Bogan would be the final straw
Greed and lust, thrust, tentacles reaching, black and blue
The road ahead a beckoning freedom call
To a land of kings and queens
Freedoms dream takes her away from the land
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow
(clarice)
-6/16/2014
The plight of many young girls and boys is finding themselves lost
Not wanting to live in the abusive atmosphere that has been their lot
We all want to say it isn’t so. These desperate children searching for freedom
This poem is written for them
“Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow” from Tennyson’s Morte D’Arthur
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