Dying Red Poem by stephanie varnadore

Once upon a place of weary,
As the blood turns cold and dreary.
My vision was covered with spots of red,
When, now, will I be dead.
Pale and sickly, I lay on the ground,
Reaching for the screeching sound.
My limbs grow numb from the lose of blood,
The gun shots came in all of a flood.
Until death do we part,
My only regret is not eating a tart.
Minutes have passed since my killers fled,
I only wish that my husband is fed.
My eyes fluttered trying to see the light,
It is bright and lovely to my sight.
Suddenly my fluttering heart stopped,
And now I'm awaiting heaven on top.