I had a Poet Sister.

I had a poet sister
 or should I say a poetess?
She was a little fairy and when she was twelve
years old she wrote a poem about a birthday party
that  made my mind go sad and arty.


Do you ever wonder how sadness
permeates the world of twelve year
olds who roves by the moon but is a creature
of the noon. Broken beautiful creatures is a cliché,
but then there’s another niche-
the ones with heart of gold.

Writing this I feel sad, perhaps a little lonesome and curtly

bad. The candles were all burning right,
the friends hadn’t lost her for a moment’s sight,
gifts and love was all at large,
there wasn’t any sadness barge.
But all she thought of was a delightful culinary
that reeked of heavenly flavor. And when the party was
over she wrote,
yes she wrote a line that I must
quote:

‘Did they celebrate my birthday or a chicken’s death?’

(As I read those lines again today my heart trembled a little.)

I read those lines over and over again
for I couldn’t understand why she hadn’t written
since then.