Our Worst Fears

A child is lost,
last seen with Jack Frost.
It's a boy you know,
the search is slow.
I hear his cries
through all the lies.
The winter cold
is all but told.
Within his tears,
our worst fears!
The sky grows dark,
natures bark.
He's curled up tight,
stiff with fright.
He'll stay the night,
in wait of the light.

At sunrise,
Jack dies.
The search continues,
new breakthroughs.
Later in the day,
they'd come to say:
"We found your boy..."
but they'd be coy.
For the boy had died
while he cried.

by Barry Mac Court 2007