One

Unnamed in books of history and time, Her name not penned in lengths of page or stone. She was unique, a hiccup in the world Of education free. Her dad ignored To teach her how to count to more than one. Faux pas aside, she grew and grew this seed Of ignorance and blasphemy of norms. The simple chores her mother asked of her Were monumental in their scope. When Mom Did ask for a dozen of eggs, she brought Her back just one. The weird routine went on Through school and into her career, but soon The world caught on and saw her as a light. She never saw a group. Not once did she Divide the multitudes into subsets (The numbers never added up to her!) Her fame rose quick and crowds began to grow. Her phone was plagued by calls of penitence And ev’ry golden hall she graced was full. The fame that wrapped her up did strangle her As well and soon the air of lungs did ebb To whispers, then, to silent protesting. Her life was quickly snuffed and light darkened. The mass of safety threats that brittle day Was one to her, the sea where lay a million drops. The sun where lay a million tiny specks. The papers’ headlines ran the day after the next. All shouted as one: “Murasination!”