Stories from my little corner of the world, the South. Some are from the present, some from the past...but all are from my heart.

They reflect my thoughts and views, my musing about the world, and each carries with it a bit of my heart
and soul.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

At Six

At six, watching a grainy black and white

I puzzled at the horse drawn casket.

Why didn't they use a hearse?

At six, the throngs lining the street

made me anxious and sad

with their pinched, somber faces.

At six, I mourned for her and her brother.

She was just a little girl like me,

but now she had no daddy.

At six, I asked my mother

How did her daddy die?

A bad man killed him, she said.

At six, I lay in bed at night

and fretted who would rock her now,

and who would lead her pony?

At six, my heart ached for her.

For how could life be so cruel to someone

with a beautiful name like Caroline?

Rose S. Williams

Dec. 7, 2007