I see a misty grey fog lingering lightly on the steady stream below,
Such a beauty yet such a tragedy for little Katie Bell,
She ran away from all the yelling and screaming,
To get away from the blood-lusted father of hers,
Who took away her only means of safety,
Who took away her teddy-bear,
Who took away her mother in a flash of peril with a knife,
She drifts about lonesome forest,
With tears streaming down her beaten face,
And blood spilling from her veins and slowly down her hand and onto the ground below,
She stops and collapses in agony of tiredness and pain,
Then as she lifts up her head to her surprise to see a single wooden stump,
She stands up and runs with all the energy she has left,
Then as she runs the fogs comes as well and surrounds her completely,
Yet with high hope in her heart that she is not imagining it… she runs,
Straight ahead where she thought she last saw the stump before it disappeared amongst the fog,
Then as she thinks that she draws ever near she plunges into the misty-dirt-infested river,
For such a surprise this came to her,
As she did not have a last breath,
Or even a last scream,
For the twisted and mangled roots below quickly wrapped there ways around Katie’s legs so she never did rise from the river again,
And as the story goes… her ghost like form still haunts the river and draws innocent children to the river to face the same fate as her,
And that was the end of little Katie Bell.
There is a river in the woods across the street from me and there is a legend of Katie Bell and I wrote a poems in memory of her.
