DISCLAIMER: I don't name any names, but those insinuated in this fiction are not mine.
A/N: This is a little 3x4, 4x3, poem. I rather like it, and reviews are very welcome. In fact, if
you don't review, I might have to send assassins after you all. *nervous glance* Oh, ok! I'm just
fooling, I would never do that to my readers!;) *hugs ya'll and watches you back away* Oh well, I tried.;)




Who Cares How?



I feel the weeping saplings,
Springing from the ground,

The birth of a thousand new things,
As to my gut they pound.

I hear the stars are sighing,
As it weighs them in their fate,

As if the earth was crying,
For just so select a date,

When the winter leaves it,
Drifting into spring,

And tell me if you feel it,
This dark, and stilted thing.

A broken angel lying,
In white and red and blue,

While all the others flying,
Look expectantly to you,

You say not a word,
Left hearing something else,

And you are who you whisper, absurd,
Notions in themself.

Pretty little angels, that dance inside a machine,
And dip their burning toes, with strawberry's cream,

They have their eyes so joyous, blue and large and round,
And still inside those eyes, how can such innocence be found?

Worried little dumpling, sitting in your tree,
Watching all the world but most, you are watching he,

The pretty little angel, golden hair and aching,
From the things it's taken.

Jump down now and find him, there and waiting for you.
You wait too long, you worried thing,

it's the worst for you to do.
Go and mend him fast, mend the broken wing.

Go and help him quickly, make it one to last.
Hopeful, small angel, blanketed in snow,

You watch through dark eyes, see things no one knows.
Worried, stoic child, who's seen too much just now,

You've found your lovely angel though; does it really matter how?
Kiss him in the darkness, such a quiet night,

Love him as a lover, for tomorrow comes your fight.