Let me tell you a tale;
Like the sorrows of a nightingale.
There was once a boy called Dalton;
He heard slander from fellow Melton.
So enraged he became;
No one could make him tame.
He picked up a sharp stone;
And shot it towards Melton.
But...
As fate would see, Dalton would not see glee.
Melton dogged the fierce shot;
By crouching in front of these lot.
*BAM*
The stone hit a boy;
But Dalton found no joy.
Blood, blood all around;
'That was a hard hit from its sound.'
A chilling breeze was in the air;
Even though it was a summer sun so fair.
"Chris, Chris please open your eyes;
This stone was not meant for your demise."
Dalton pleaed and pleaed but to no avail;
His friend Chris will sure to be missed
And so Dalton held his friend's corpse;
What started as a squabble, now ended with remorse.