A Painful Love

A fictional account

Cold was that December Day, a windy December day,

That I met Madame Lissa Gray, born on a very hot may.

She was tall and brown with a lovely smile that invited all

To see her lovely beautiful heart that warmed those, even small.

One day she crossed traffic on Douglas and Pier Point, on warm April,

And a car rushed by, hit her, and smeared her across the asphalt.

She was a pile of bones with no permanent home; there was nothing to bury.

She was buried in her home city of Liberty, on the coast of the Atlantic,

With few to weep and much o' the land scarce of a living soul.

I pray to God that she will be remembered and cherished,

In that garden of golden rivers and gemstone gates rising to the sky.

One day she crossed traffic on Douglas and Pier Point, on warm April,

And a car rushed by, hit her, and smeared her across the asphalt.

She was a pile of bones with no permanent home; there was nothing to bury.

For all who weep, for that lovely saint, may they cry over ashes and bones,

For her cremated body was thrown into an unmarked coffin; unwanted,

For all who weep, for that lovely saint, may they cry over ashes and bones,

Will rest eternally in a land where peace is plentiful and constant.

Poor Lissa Gray, may she rest in an eternal slumber, in the garden of Heaven.

Author's Note

Fictional

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[Michael Costello]

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