O. One Red Ribbon

Desperate voices, scream
through the streets
searching every doorway
and dirty rubbish stacks

Desperate eyes claw
the dusky evening,
hopping, wanting
to find you safe.

Desperate voices scream
across the park
and the cold wind blows
an empty swing,
and you are not there.

Desperate voices howl
across the moor
I don't want to be here.

Torch light dances
on the sodden earth
as a pretty red ribbon,

twists in the howl of the wind
on the dead wood bracken.

That harrowing marker points,
to the worst of my fear
the torches stop their searching dance
and gather in one horrific glare,

with one pretty red ribbon,

in your hair.