The Wrath of the Ginger
Sporting blue jean overalls and crimson pigtail braids
She wizzed right through apple bobbing and flashy arcades
Making absolute certain, she was the first in line
Only to be disappointed by a “height to enter” sign
As mad as a hornet, her face matched her red hair
All worked up with excitement, she demanded a scare
Little to no concern, for her tantrum, was displayed
Grownups rolled their eyes at her petty Charade
The smirk, she was wearing, was a sight for sore eyes
The crowd began mocking as she said her goodbyes
A moderately obese Boy Scout, showed her to the exit
But forgot to watch her leave. He was too busy texting
What happened next, Is up to you to decide
The power was lost. Every light, sound and ride
Some say the child turned to thick, black smoke
Rolling in from every direction, till each neck was broke
Not a witness was spared, from the wrath of the ginger
Now all through the town, you can hear the ghosts whisper
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2017
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