Poetry

Once upon a place of weary,
As the blood turns cold and dreary.
My vision is covered with spot of red,
When, now, will I be dead?
Pale and sickly, I lay on the ground,
Reaching for the screetching sound.
My limbs grow numb from the loss of blood,
The gun shots came all in a flood.
Until death do us part,
My only regret is not eating a tart.
Minutes have passed since my killers fled,
I only wish that my husband will be fed.
My eyes fluttered trying to see the light,
It is bright and lovely in my sight.
Suddenly my fluttering heart stopped,
And now I'm awaiting heaven on top.