Her Unfinished Verse Poem by Twilight Whispers

That's not the end of the world,
they say, as they stand huddled in groups,
Watching tiny fragments of an infinate hazy jigsaw
fall sharply from the clouds
(Who are burting to relieve their backs
of this aching, heavy burden) .
I, with my tight, mahogany curls,
cling to the welcoming coolness of the lamp post,
Papillon perched gallantly on my hand, watching
(as he always does) as mother calls:
'It's raining, sweetness, run along or you'll catch your death out there.
I didn't know what death was, but I wasn't about to
loiter around long enough to catch it.

I grin cheekily as mummy lovingly wipes the raindrops
from my nose with her red spotty handkerchief,
My smile proudly displaying the brilliant gap where
my two front teeth used to live.
Mummy trotts off to the kitchen to see to dinner and leaves
me in the hallway to discard my puddle-splashed clothing.

I sit myself down on the doormat,
delicately untieing the laces on my
Fawny-pink boots,
a present from Nanna Mouritz in Italy.
I begin to struggle as my dainty fingers
become viciously entwined with the spitting, selfish laces,
And in a panic, Papillon springs to the rescue
and flies heroicly to my feet to help

untangle me,
to FREE me,
from this horrible mess that I dropped into.