Twas but the last Spring Day

‘Twas but the last spring day,
Where the fillies were out to neigh,
Song and laughter was absurd,
Gone were the songs of the bird.

‘Twas but the last minute of the day,
Whence I sat amongst the panicked stray,
Eagerly waiting for the last hurrah,
The results of selfishness which none foresaw,
Delicate as an infant we lived and stayed,
Oblivious to the suffering forbade,
MURDER MURDER!,
I say,
As they stripped our world for their pay.
She shrivelled Withered and perished in pain,
Her love which will never come again.

O, for what caused this unjust on the last spring day
I beg you, Mother come back to us so we can once again play,
I beg you with my last breath, to save us all from death.