Oh what a Woeful Soul

This poem was originally written back in 2009 for a school project. It is inspired by the prologue of the novel "The Secret Lives of Sgt. John Wilson."

Oh what a woeful soul,

laying in the cold bitter air.

Snowflakes falling gently on her hair.

The mother of a darling child,

not yet born. 

Dead in the snow.

Oh what a woeful soul.

Not known to the world,

dead in a culvert.

Blood upon her suit,

crimson staining blue.

Not a passer by in sight

knows of murder in the night. 

Only left to be lonely.

Scattered corsage

flitting in the wind. 

High above a horse,

unknown passer by. 

The dead tell no tales

and the wind can not speak.

She is left alone

murder unreported.

Oh what a woeful soul.

Only left to be lonely.