There was a pretty, little flower girl

Many moons ago

She always found the brightest blooms

And sold them down The Row

 

The Row was full of scurrilous knaves 

Who thought her smile so priceless 

One day they took that smile away 

And left her cold & lifeless 

 

No man nor beast was ever caught

And flowers bloomed no-more

The Row fell grey with dank decay 

And rot became its core

 

As years passed by it festered dark 

Until three men confessed

Now, old & frail, weary & pale

She had not let them rest

 

Her smile had been in every crack 

And crevice they had passed

Her shadow whispering fragrant tales

Of the stone they all had cast

 

And there they were, like wilting lilies 

Compost made from guilt 

Their minds & flesh slowly reduced

To nothing more than silt

 

And on the anniversary 

Of the pretty, little flower girl's death

She let them feel her horrific ordeal 

As they screamed a collective last breath 

 

The Row is long demolished 

Now, a park of gardens & green

Where a pretty,  little flower girl 

Is very often seen…