Pecan Tree

A sandy blonde boy grips a BB gun

And begins pumping life into its lungs.

Across the street lies his pecan tree,

Where crows, with pecking terror, are feasting.

One pump, two, three and four,

All the way until twenty.

Loaded with a metallic ball,

The sandy blonde boy goes hunting.

Parked in a nest, aiming at a crow’s chest,

He glances the trigger and out flies Death.

A black angel falls to the ground,

And descending upon him are mourning clouds.