Here lies one who pondered what lies beyond,
A gothic nocturne that played during the day,
Stagnantly lies, his violet pond,
Which once shined his needles in the hay.
  Down the rabbit hole, Mr. is silent,
His lone mother hopes to see him again.
To indite her poetry that ceases her riot,
But he lies eternally in his dark den.
  The pond has all dissolved into the ground,
His pond of sweat, his pond of tears.
Nobody cried to fill it up, nobody frowned,
It all went down to him with such dispair.
 
Now and then, here flies an eternal crow,
  But it's shouting for help down the rabbit hole.

© Lungelodube