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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Relationship · #1785103
Nature is not always kind.
We live our lives through the eyes of a child
As we travel through each and every mile
The sadden tale that ultimately will unfold
While the life of an innocent it does hold.

As the screamed call of the hawk
Scatters the soul of any flock
Or wing breath of the meadowlark
In the spring life it does spark.

But I tell you this, I know
Only unhappiness plays this show
As the life of the innocent is spent
Unknown, as the father’s rage does vent

Uncaring, he did sneak
Unloving, he did peek
Dare we not share his lie
This portend caress he does ply.

The hawk did make us all a fear
Bringing the eyes of the child tear
If only the meadowlark could feign a mighty call
Putting a stop to this, once and for all

Needless more there is to say
Only, childhood is not all play,
Innocence is a cloak worn by day
Taking his blame, wears it away.

"What?" you ask, is it not clear
This life you handed us is not dear.
When will this game of yours cease
As the scream of the hawk does release
The lark clasped tightly in its claw
The little bird, no more a flaw.

© Copyright 2011 Dragon Skies (sherri at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1785103