On the fourth of January
I was filled with worry
I'll never forget that night
Man, I seen the light

I Felt so Weak,
Couldn’t even speak
All I could think
Is she gonna be all right?

Hell all around
Glass on the ground
The sirens comin' 'round
Helicopters touch the ground

As they flew my Pickle up high
I questioned “Is she gonna die? ”
Blood pouring down my face
Realization - I’m in a race

I’m at the starting line
To the rest of my life.
It’s sometimes hard to admit,
That my Pickle never made it

Hard to forget,
That feeling of regret
I’m told not to play the “if” game
I feel so at blame.

One more mistake,
A chance we shouldn’t take.
Right now it’s hard to comprehend,
But I lost my best friend.

*****************************************

ilm. Of Rachel Belanger Beaudry,
My Pickle.

Jessica Dawn

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fourth-of-january/