Rosie, Rosie, you’re running so fast
past me to the sheep, like a kangaroo.
I found a dead squirrel on one of the last
days. I don’t think the killer was you.
But then, when you sat on the window sill,
a bird flew against its pane and landed
in front of you, who were sitting just still.
You mouthed it and that’s, I’m afraid, how it ended.
