She picked up the pen and tried to write,
But stopped as she struggled for things to say.
Thinking the muse might be found in the
Papers, she looked for the events of today.
Headlines reeked of death and destruction,
Not quite what she had had in mind.
What she wanted was more of a story about
someone courageous, heroic, or kind.
This letter, you see, was for her own hero–
Someone whom she felt exactly as such.
This hero was someone she was in love with,
And she, someone he loved very much.
But she and her hero never did tell
About the secret love they had shared;
Not that they didn’t try, they did! but
Fear ensured their souls never did bare.
Alas, she came across a heroic story about
A man who died saving his friends at sea:
A huge wave had overturned their boat,
Ironically named “Mister Lucky”.
“Mister Lucky, Mister Lucky, that is
A very familiar name,” thought she.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, is that
not the boat of ‘Lucky Dresden’ Lea?”
Dresden Lea –her hero– was fishing with
Friends when a giant wave hit from behind,
The strongest swimmer, he rescued three,
Before being dragged down by a fishing line.
The line, tied to the boat, got hooked
To his boot as he tried to save another,
And as the boat went down, it was yet
Another case of hook, line and sinker.
Her eyes were red, her hero was dead,
And that letter never got written.
The papers tomorrow will tell of more sorrow,
And reek of death and destruction.
A hero dies at sea;
A suicide mystery.