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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1811800
by Rhyssa
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Horror/Scary · #1811800
a ballad of sorts
“Now what are you doing, young fellow me lad,
Spoons really don’t carry much dirt, it
Seems that your hole is just three inches deep.”
“I might dig all day but it’s worth it.”

“All the other boys dally, young fellow me lad,
They gambol and holler with mirth. It’s
Not right to dig here all day and all night.”
He just shrugged and repeated, “It’s worth it.”

“What makes this place special, young fellow me lad,
Did you see something glint to convert it
From any old patchwork of meaningless ground?”
“If I did, than it’s certainly worth it.”

“Perhaps late last dreamtime, young fellow me lad,
You woke to a shadow—and sure that
The shadow was digging on this piece of land . . .”
“Well, then all my work would be worth it.”

“And perhaps this same shadow, young fellow me lad,
Could see you and feared you’d unearth it.
Perhaps shadow treasure is not safe to seek.”
The boy shrugged and muttered, “It’s worth it.”

“And maybe this treasure, young fellow me lad,
Isn’t treasure at all—let’s invert it.
Maybe this hole holds a horror inside.
Would you still dig?” “Yes, it’s worth it.”

“Well, I tried to be nice, young fellow me lad,
I was trying to leave you unhurt. It
Was me in the shadow, my secret you seek.
I like you, but you are not worth it.”

“But why do you stand so? Old shadow, old man,
‘Twas a game I was playing, I’m pure. That
Story you told was imaginings, right?”
“You know too much now, you’re not worth it.”

“But why pull my arm so? Old shadow, old man.
With my friends all around to alert. It’s
Dark in this coat, I am scared and confused.”
“I may go to jail, but it’s worth it.”

“But why did you shoot me? Old shadow, old man.
I’m dying, my game was not worth this,”
“Just six inches more and you’d touch my wife’s hands
My horror, my treasure. She’s worth it.”

line count: 40
© Copyright 2011 Rhyssa (sadilou at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1811800