Cry, Cry, Cry me a river,
Cry, Cry, Cry me a stream
Cry, Cry, Cry me a shower
To wash me from this dirty dream.
The man in black said keep
From the grips that Hell employs
So she did what the good book told her
let them talk away her choice
She thought the child would
make her happy
Dress it up just like a doll
But all it does is cry like she does
All she turns to is the wall
So she saunters toward the
Brings her face up to the glass
Eyes like buoys in salt water
Will this aching ever pass?
She says "God I've got to leave
Where my fresh milk has gone sour
But I'm trapped Ain't it a pity
Pulled all the petals off my flower."
© Susan Firing