He was a tall muscular man, dark-
haired and in the prime of his life.
In horror I watched him stumble and
fall back, face up onto the green grass.
Three knife wounds cut deep, thrown
with great speed and precision by
an assassin dressed in black in a
matching sombrero with silver band.
I rushed to his side placing both
my trembling hands on his cheeks
as I watched his face become pale.
My tears fell on his face as I pleaded
with him, don't die, please don't die.
He couldn't speak to me, but his eyes
said I love you before his spirit departed.
I laid my head on his bleeding chest
and sobbed uncontrollably in disbelief.
It was then that I saw her standing there
In the corner of the lawn with a slight
smile on her face, her soft dress blowing
in the breeze, and I knew it was she,
his own wife, who had hired the assassin.
I heard windchimes sadly sing his epitaph.
Wind Chimes Poetry Contest~N/A~
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2018