The Scythe
What would you do or say?
When someone close to you is hurt?
Would you make the devils pay?
Well, does your anger spurt?
Heart bleeds when it's the child,
Harmed and troubled to a terrible plight,
How can a mother restrain from going wild,
High was her anger, oh! On everything at sight.
Enraged, she picked up the law,
Engulfed in sorrow of the pain,
Endured her child's plight that she saw,
Ensured that they don't harm again.
Never should they harm any soul,
Neither the young, nor old.
Negate, did she as a whole,
Not to mention her scythe, that shone like gold.
Author’s Note – The Scythe is the sequel attempted to my previous poem Crumpled written for La’libertas.
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