The Rolling Stone

I once stepped on a rolling stone,
     Being far away from the safety of home.
I once got lost in the deep, dark woods,
     But found a meadow filled with monkshoods.
 
I laid among these fresh, purple flowers,
     Uncaring about all the passing hours.
I watched the sunrays disappear,
     Turning the meadow to a landscape so austere.
 
I stood up and wanted to run away,
     I had to flee and somehow make my escape.
I stumbled my path over rocks and stones,
     And ripped my clothes on wild growing thorns.
 
I fled from trees, plants and their wild sneer.
     Running in what seemed like a hundred years.
I finally reached a place, filled with moonlight,
     The breath got caught in my lungs so tight.
 
I had never before like this calmed down,
     The wind playing softly with my nightgown.
I had never a place more beautiful seen.
     Oh, how I wanted to obtain, to gather, to glean.
 
I then heard a growling noise from all around,
     Making me collide of fear with the icecold ground.
I saw the field change and felt my blood freeze to ice,
     My voice screaming out in petrified fright.
 
I caught a sight of my pursuer, nearing my place,
     A delicate grin of pure delight, brushing it's face.
I forced out my broken voice and ached in pain,
     As his claws were brutally piercing my skin.
 
I see my splatter of blood, painting green grass red,
     Body shuddering upon the clammy kiss of death
I feel my body grow cold and my life ebb away,
     My conciousness too quickly flying astray.

Now that everything is black, I guess I have learned  my lesson well.
    Greed is one deadly sin of seven, and definetly not the road to heaven.