The Grave

On this beautiful night

I wish to be with my mother

she would shine so bright

 

As I walk to the cemetery

I wish I were having some strawberries

 

I think of that I hope he won’t be mad

I hear grass rustle, I hear a muffle,

I keep walking, I keep hearing talking

 

I get to the grave, I see a cave

I see all these zombies; I think I see my mommy

She runs up to me, I feel her fear

 

I look at her, “Mom, is that you standing here?”

Leave a Comment