The Ol’ Wagon

He was an ethical gent with a beard
She, the sentinel of the wagon’s interior
They both had important jobs

This trail was deadly
It could turn into the gates of heaven in the blink of eye

She looked upon his beard lovingly
He stroked it thoughtfully
They were mindful of various diseases
And the unpleasant dead ends life could create

The lil’ sprouts swayed in the back of the wagon
Laughing with a sense of purpose
He combed his fingers through a trail of grey hair
She reprimanded those that swayed

Everything seemed to be going well
Then she noticed the top of the wagon had been punctured
And their whole world came crashing down

The sprouts wilted
Clearing a path for devilish eyes

Puncture