so you take from the dirt what you can,
we weepers have a hard time in maine
hard he struck at the dirt with a few words
and he desperately prayed for the rain.
there aren’t that many people with souls left
but you’re after the ones with no heart
and though mother had said it’d be tiring
you can see that’s what sets them apart.
he is walking around with his maker
quiet smiling not saying a word
and you didn’t run off with the baker
though he always made sure you were heard
in the late night the forest was empty
it was nighttime and nobody stirred
but the man with no heart said come with me
i’ve the back of my horse and a bird.
Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry
Golden Star Poetry 
Hmm this would make for a good short story.
aha thank you! maybe i should turn it into one, who knows? 🙂