Father hid a ruby beneath his bed,
beneath the dusty oak floor, he then said.
We speak of it, and father coldly glares,
at us, his well mannered sons. How dare he?
His thieving ways are murderous, listen.
We have four hours before we call it, quit;
a quest, a glorious moment, a life spared.
This red gem belongs to this animal,
found and wounded, soon dead, between the signs
X and P; a crossing and parking lot.
Our neighbourhood will torch and kill it, on
the spot. My brother and I ought and fought
to find its element - revive its skin's
soul! Twenty-seventh ruby; father sins.
Poem based on three words, two letters and two numbers:
All suggested by Shir S., a friend and a fan of my literary work.
*Undoubtedly, my most challenging piece, as of November 20th 2013!