Apirl Mourning (a poem)

It’s a cold April morning, students shaking off sleep,

Head toward their classrooms, destinies to keep.


Some will come back that night, some never again.

An average day on campus has just begun, when


A heartsick, deranged young man sprays innocent blood,

On the floors, on the walls, his mad surge in full flood.


Young men and women, who only moments past

Were full of life, in shock breathe their last.


Those not yet dead use their desks for screening.

Now the word “victim” really has meaning.


For a few short hours, a whole nation weeps

For young lives cut short, while the tragedy seeps


Into one consciousness, a great sadness that starts

On a cold April morning that has touched all our hearts.


Mimi Evans Winship