Come in like a lion, roaring with orange skin and fake blond hair. March, he says, to war. Yes, people will die. That’s what happens in war.
Not to him of bone spur heaven. But to others whose father’s aren’t so rich.
Susan Singer
The march from the bus station to the school seemed longer every day. She had money to take the city bus but she pocketed it so she could buy a snack at break time. Not for herself, but for the bully who demanded the offering.
Come in like a lion, roaring with orange skin and fake blond hair. March, he says, to war. Yes, people will die. That’s what happens in war.
Not to him of bone spur heaven. But to others whose father’s aren’t so rich.
The march from the bus station to the school seemed longer every day. She had money to take the city bus but she pocketed it so she could buy a snack at break time. Not for herself, but for the bully who demanded the offering.