The Ladybug Poem by Nichole Webb

The messenger comes,
A billow of dust announces his arrival,
What kind of message does he bring this day?

A bright yellow flag perhaps, signifying happiness,
The fields yielding a splendid harvest,
The church bells singing of reunion.

Is it festival already?
A banner of silk fire swaying in the breeze,
Telling of a day as unpredictable as fire itself,
A day when jugglers and dancers preform miracles for little boys and girls.

No, well then hopefuly nothing too bad,
Hopefully just a brown one,
A color as barren and without life as the crops unfortunetly were this year.

Surely there hasn't been a riot!
The red of hate and suffering running unchecked throughout the city.

Then I fear the worst,
Death has come to call,
That slippery fiend that slips in unoticed and leaves sorrow behind in its wake,
The harbringer of woe.

What color rises o'er the horizon?
Alas, he has come with death and vengence,
Grinning over his shoulder and shaking hand,
Triumphant over their evil deed.

The messenger comes with ill tidings this day.