…he came on tiptoe
He came on the sly,
Sweat on his forehead,
and on his lips – a lie.
Son, are you happy? I don’t mean to pry,
but do you dream of heaven?
Have you wanted to die?
Sam blinked his eyes twice.
But made no reply.
Dad fingered his knife and loosened his tie.
And he picked up his son,
Sam dripped on his coat.
With the shell to his lips,
Sam slipped down his throat.
They buried him quickly in the sand by the sea.
- sighed a prayer, wept a tear -
and were back home by three.
A cross off gray driftwood
marked oyster boy’s grave.
Words writ in the sand
promised Jesus would save.
But his memory was lost with one high tide wave.
Tim Burton – The Melancholy Death of Oyster boy
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