That's my girl.

There she is, all blonde and beautiful.

Her favorite pink sweater,

Her sparkling, glowing blue eyes.

She's all soft, not like this war.

Here it's loud, noisy, shrill.

She's soft, kind, her hand

Like lotion soothing my blood thirsty mind.

Wait, where is she going?

She's headed toward that village,

The bad communist village.

Mary Anne, no!

Please, come here.

Come to me and stay innocent, silky smooth.

Your face is brown.

Where did that strawberry ice cream go?

It was right there, shining, begging me

To come eat it.

But then the sun came,

And plop, plop, plop

It dropped from the cone.

It's on the ground now,

Melting away.

The dirt owns it now,

And is indulging in its sweet uniqueness,

Taking away the flavor and making it



A necklace of tongues.