What a wind whispered, while winding its way
Around the graveyard's sentinel tombstones!
Yet still, a silence made it deafening -
No animals would speak in beastly tones.
Just a month ago, cold earth clods crumbled
All over her corpse, when laid to rest 'midst
Frogs' croaks, squirrels' chatter, and birds' sad chirps;
All simply asking, "Why silent, good Miss?"
Her gift was to speak in beastly whispers;
Whereby, through grunts and squeaks, she could divine
What needs animals had, prior deferred -
Making them be furry friends, oh so fine!
Her death was ghastly - happened suddenly
Through fiendish actions of her employer,
A museum caught up in gluttony,
When they learned she had become betrayer.
See, she was tasked with building collections,
Yet she balked at filling the science hall.
Her fears of silence won; she warned the beasts
Of traps and poisons that would freeze them all...
Questions linger on the whispering wind -
How'd the museum find out, how'd they win?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment