Her green eyes would be crying if she were not drowning
This unexpected occurrence cannot be blamed
On a child no older than eleven
For who could predict such an outcome
When your eyes are not trained to accept destruction?
Could we blame the father
For taking her by the hand
Granting her demands
To return to the house on the hill?
Or was he just blinded by love
For his daughter who looked
On certain days so much like her mother?
No matter the cause or circumstance
She floats now with a look of surprise
Her blonde hair floating around her eyes
Wondering if death grants a second chance.
Downward she drifts to the carpet
That appears alive with the pull of the waves,
Downward she falls to the floor which is her grave
Wondering if she is not Dorothy
Lost in the foreign land of Oz.
Blackness begins to swallow her vision
And at last she begins to panic
Thrashing and flailing weakly,
Her white skin glowing like ether
To match the soft whiteness of her dress
That makes her look like an angel.
Slowly her green eyes shut
And she is still,
Still in the silence,
Still in the wasteland,
A fallen angel among silken waters.
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