Oh Sylvia, Sylvia,
dead in the oven.
What became of a girl
such as you?
Hair twisted and curled
like a cinnamon roll
glistening sweet with collegiate innocence.
Oh Sylvia, Sylvia,
where did you go?
Was the air too much to breathe?
Too heavy a weight for your
pretty pink lungs,
the morning dew unfolding
round you,
taking your smile,
with the sun.
Oh Sylvia, Sylvia,
a sensitive girl,
taking no pleasure on earth,
The bearing of children,
the bedding of men,
left you alone
with nowhere
to turn,
when turning is where you began.
A student, a scholar,
a daughter to envy,
carrying words in your satchel.
A smile couldn’t hide
your dark
bloody mind.
Or keep the New England cold
from your skin.
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