deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Last, Final Time
1.
And Jean was her
name, fifteen, full
of love and confusion.
I gave her reasons why
she should stay. But
she did not.
2.
How I miss her.
Finally she slaughtered
herself: the result
of some dissection.
And Jean was her
name, fifteen, full
of love and confusion.
I gave her reasons why
she should stay. But
she did not.
2.
How I miss her.
Finally she slaughtered
herself: the result
of some dissection.
Published 17th Oct 2012
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17th Oct 2012 5:26pm
18th Oct 2012 00:18am
Im so sorry to hear about Jean. This poem is a great reminder of her though. She must be smiling wherever she is now.
