Death called I won’t be
home.
Anna kreigal
Full of life she ran that
day, friends called she went to play,
A mother knew while sat at
home,
Usually she was home
alone,
Gone to play, she felt appalled,
no friend before had ever called,
Three days missing yet
mother knew,
In a derelict place her
body they threw,
And while one watched the
other battered,
A beautiful soul who truly
mattered,
Her life ended in a dismal
place,
Unrecognisable behaviour a
lifeless face,
And all the while a mother’s
truth,
The friend called death, a
daughter knew,
In two young lads it
shaped its form,
Pray ye all this is not
the norm,
As three young children
went to play,
And two returned on that
fateful day,
Truths emerge from media sources,
Pictures viewed, on phone
devices,
May have turned one young
lads brain,
Unseen by jury the judge
refrained,
Still no excuse they
planned and plotted,
A beautiful soul perhaps
besotted,
Murdered by two false
school friend’s,
So sad so hard, she met
her end,
And yet three families mourn
the loss,
Society at large should
fear the cost,
As death called a young
soul out to play,
Innocence destroyed,
society will rue this day.
