WOOT! This is the last one! But once again, I can't think of anything else to talk about. So here's another poem:
My lord and m' lady, I’m terribly sorry,
But I have to continue my marvelous story:
There once was a lady riding the trail,
Wearing fine jewels and dress –
But how a baker cracks an egg,
Her horse broke a leg
And everything made a big mess!
A man came along to deliver the mail
When he spotted the lady with heed.
Her skirts in one hand, a ready pistol in the other,
She took aim for the man on the steed -
He took off his hat,
And to her he hailed
For he was none other
Than her brother!
She asked for a ride
But he sadly refused, saying:
“This pony was bred for just one, not two.”
“Though it is getting late,” he added with care
And served her some bread, cheese, and more.
But soon after she fed,
She cut off his head,
Which fell on the damp forest floor.
I don't even know why I wrote this. It's untitled, but by the beginning, I think it was meant to be a monologue or something for one of the stories I was writing. I found this on a random piece of paper about a year ago, but I'm pretty sure I wrote this a long time before that, probably when I was around 9 or something. The ending must make me sound like quite the cynical 9-year-old. I don't know, murders have always seemed to fascinate me.. I'm not a sadist I swear.
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