It's Me Again, Dear Mr. Darcy...

Do not doubt it, I am a Swiftie,

I know the importance, of the number thirteen,

I wish I could throw it, to the deep sea,

Cause it's lucky for her, but not for me,

She's gifted, and thirteen, she doesn’t need.

Passing by that day, increasing my speed,

I heard that voice, for the first time, clearly,

It was her birthday, I did feel happy,

But a month later, they drowned me, in water,

That did not, at least, reach my knees.

Stepping in that day, obeying the command,

Closer to the stars, but farther from the land,

It was packed and crowded, like it never had,

I felt the need, of a helping hand,

A caring heart, only to understand.

Things went worse, on my return,

A lonely house, instead of my home,

The silent cry, from a heart that burn,

Thunder struck our minds, going from bad to worse,  

The loudest noise, I've ever heard.

In the rush, falls a tear, for the camels gone rotten,

With troubles of their own, the world has forgotten,

There's smoke, in Melbourne, that continues to haunt,

A soldier might not see, his baby's first walk,

And your kingdom, continues to expand in my heart,

Up to date, Dear Mr. Darcy.

Oh yes, it's me again, Debbie.

-Debra R. N. Ludwick-