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Array
(
[sid] => 12004
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => The Final Race
[time] => 2003-02-05 21:40:00
[hometext] => Choices made and the consequences that must sometimes be paid.
[bodytext] => Behind the gates, upon the hill beneath a shaded tree,
Stands a lady with a flower, whose tears are shed for me. She stands there weeping all alone, such pity on her face, And wipes the tears upon her cheek with a kerchief trimmed in lace. If only I’d have known the pain that I would cause, But recklessly I didn’t think, nothing gave me pause. No friend was there to caution me or put me in my place, When at the light a car pulled up and challenged me to race. Liquid courage filled my veins, I knew I could not lose, At least that’s what I told myself or was it just the booze? So at the green I hit the gas and put it to the floor, The wheels squealed, the car took off, I could hear the engine roar. When at the turn, while neck in neck, the car began to slide, I lost control, no time to think, where was my foolish pride? The tree came up so suddenly, I hit it on the side, And with a crash the race did end and that is where I died. Upon the hill and six feet down is where my body lies, The drunken choices that I made have given me this prize. My mother stands there all alone with tears upon her face, And remembers me the way I was before the final race. By: Doug Morton http://wordpoet.tripod.com [comments] => 7 [counter] => 377 [topic] => 31 [informant] => WordPoet [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 15 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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