The Sandbox
I wouldn't see her every time
When I went out to play;
But sensed her stench if she was near
And loathed her foul decay.
She always wore a dirty dress,
And never seemed to grow;
But who she was, or how she died,
Still doubt I'll ever know.
There were days I'd hear her speak
In tones which sounded kind.
While other times she'd frighten me
And terrorize my mind.
When she would say to follow her
To find forever shade;
I'd hear whispers in her smile
And knew to be afraid.
Once had thought to be alone
While digging in the sand,
Until my buried feet grew cold
When felt her clammy hand.
But when I screamed and tried to run,
Her nails dug at my skin;
And since that day, have yet to play
In any sand again.
