Shot down in its prime. <br />Shot down <br />While making daisy chains in the park <br />For little girls to be daisy queens. <br />Shot down <br />While tottering down the catwalk <br />In this years daring fashion. <br />Shot down <br />While bungee jumping from Brooklyn bridge. <br />Shot down <br />While kite boarding on Porthmadog beach <br />Shot down <br />While refusing ecstasy at a rave, <br />High on the beat and energy of the music <br />Shot down <br />While drawing a moustache on Mona Lisa <br />And carrying Michelangelo’s David <br />Back to its rightful place in the square, <br />Where he can enjoy the sunshine, rain and wind <br />In his hair. <br />Shot down in its prime. <br />Lying dead now <br />On a cold white slab. <br />Experts dissecting its liver and heart, <br />Picking over interesting bits. <br />Sew it back together <br />Please. <br />Don’t leave it in the fridge. <br />Give it a decent burial, <br />Leave it some dignity <br />And let me weep for it, <br />Shot down in its prime.<br /><br />Sallie Howson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-of-a-poem/
