Jacqualene Roe

• Sarah Gebhard, Grade 4
• Poetry
• 2013

A crow in the distance flies upon its will
But sinister evil lies just beyond the hill
In the dark woods, a place forbidden
Is to thy crow finding, not hidden.
He takes a rest to lie on dry grass
Wallaby babies jump past but they’re just too fast
Crow can’t keep up but he has to try
If crow doesn’t eat, he might die.
And then he saw small Jacqualene Roe
Her skin so pale as white as snow
Short smooth hair, tied up in a bun
Just sitting there quietly in the sun.
Crow moved closer and she turned around
She roared in anger, crow cringed at the sound
That was the last thing Crow ever heard
Only a feather was left of that bird.