By Krystle Zachary
Rocks tumble down like heavy butterflies
Down down down they fall
Where will they land?
I ask my Mommy where the rocks come from, and she only shakes her head.
Her eyes are blue and gray thunderclouds of worry, I want to tell her this, but I know that once I do,
She'll only close them. For such a long long time until I yearn for her to open them again.
I peek out the window again, to see the rocks. They roll roll roll, crumbled red dirt clings on them. They make a mess in the freshly green yard.
These rocks are ruining the mood, the yard, my Mommy.
I hate the rocks.
I hate them so much, I run outside fast fast fast
and I hear Mommy scream scream my name but I say
I got it Mommy I will stop the rocks that keep falling down down down
The rocks that make you blink blink blink tears away
Then I turn around and something sharp hits the back of my head and I tumble down down down
A heavy butterfly
I hear my Mommy's cry,
I don't see her eyes.
I don't know if she ever closed them or if they were