“Tell me about the days of old,”
Asked the little girl.
“Tell me how the giants collapsed,
And towns in fire whirled.”
The bard hummed and strummed his citurn,
And his strings did tune.
“This is not a song for the weak,
But it’s before noon.
“I hope tonight you’ll soundly sleep;
Blame yourself if not.”
The young girl sat with bated breath,
Hoping to be distraught.
“Back before the nuclear fires,
Buildings did shimmer
And reached to lofty sky with spires
‘Til skies grew dimmer.
“The sun disappeared behind airplanes
Carrying the bombs.
Then cancerous growths emerged
On those who survived…”
This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #118, Song. I feel like this was left incomplete, but perhaps we’ll investigate that some other day?