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The Lass

Past the footprints on the muddy track
If you walk through the grazing grass,
Find you will a knife stained and black
With old blood from a young lass.

Follow the drops and you shall see
Flattened grass where the dull spots end,
A young lass with tears running free
To form a river just 'round the bend.

Born from a puddle of red despair,
Flowing through a barren way
To the sea and from there the air,
Resting in the gathering clouds of the ending day.

All the lass had ever needed was a shoulder;
Now her own tears rain down to wash away sorrow,
For no kind voice ever told her
Of the light that shone in the morrow.

Her tears stay to water the tired,
Her blood forever staining the silent ground;
The Earth shall rise to claim the wired,
Only then will start the sound

Of what made the lass the knife to yield?
However did she drown in despair?
Why did she keep her secrets sealed
As she sought to destroy all beyond repair?

Perhaps she'll hear from the starry sky
The apologies and condolences shared.
She'll see rumours and regrets fly,
Realizing for the first time they cared.

Only she wouldn't - wouldn't be
Amongst the stars shining up high,
For none can ever see
What happens after they die.

Later it would be the talk of the town - the knife,
Not the lass - for many weeks to come.
It would gain fame having taken a life
And would eventually be sold for quite a large sum.

And thus a young lass died,
A noisy silence prevailed;
Crocodiles were the ones who cried;
Only a few truly wailed.

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