He kept on staring at her little face,
an image stained inside his eyes,
but just as when they were knee high
he waited for a time and place.

Her gift to him was a lengthy chase;
one she promised would last and never die.
He kept on staring at her little face,
an image stained inside his eyes.

On her last run she left barely a trace,
only one thing for her silent guy:
The stain inside consumed his cry,
as he looked into the six foot space;
he kept on staring at her little face.

© Carl Burkitt 2014