The Lark

A poem I wrote in a very boring French lesson. For English, we were supposed to bring in a poem about death (we have a very sadistic teacher) and I'd forgotten to find one so I wrote this myself :)

As the lark flies high above the hill,

I think of you and miss you still.

If you were still here, on this land,

It would eat breadcrumbs from your hand.

Such as you loved every thing,

That had wings, could fly and a song would sing,

Now in the heavens, way up high,

On silver wings you now do fly.

For me, in your absence, the world grows cold,

All is pewter which once was gold.

All the good has gone with you,

As goodness only you can use.

The forests you once held so dear,

At night, my bitter cries will hear.

My tears will spatter the dusty ground,

Mourning you in silent sound.

As the lark flies high above the hill,

I think of you, and miss you still,

I know the bird is mocking me:

"You're trapped down there, but I am free!"

The End

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