The Tragic Tale of Dominic Doe

By: Richard Lynch

o o o o

There is a story yet been told,
Of young Dominic Doe.
Nine years of age he’s been with us,
A charming boy, although,
A small disorder ruled his life
And made him quite the show.

You see, dear reader, this young boy
Could not control his noise.
His hiccups ran from birth ‘till nine,
They stripped him of all joys.
His fellow peers would mock him through,
Destroying this lad’s poise

Young Dominic could take no more,
These hiccups were no fun!
To live a normal life, he wished
When every day was done.
A cure he had to strategize,
But he could think of none.

His begged his fam’ly to relieve
This most undying dread.
His mother dearest had a plan,
She sent him off to bed.
She told her husband of her scheme,
And this is what she said:

“Our son’s hiccups have gone too far,
I’ve thought a way to end,
We’ll call him down the brink of day,
His little mind we’ll bend!
To scare him true will be the cure,
And that’s what I intend!”

“That seems just right,” her husband said,
He thought of ways to scare.
For what would fright poor Dominic
To turn white all his hair?
He pointed to the couch and said,
“We’ll play dead over there!”

The sun came up from darkness morn,
The birds began to sing.
Young Dominic hiccupped in bed
But loved the sight of spring!
He left his bed, began downstairs,
Suspecting not a thing.

Down winding stairs the young boy crept,
But not a peep he heard.
His parents should be up by now,
This simply was absurd!
When sight was cast upon the couch,
He then saw what occurred:

His parents lay, they did not move,
The fear that they’d depart.
‘Twas blood-stained clothes, two silent screams
That told the two apart.
This fright turned Dominic ice cold,
And stopped his little heart.

His parents rose, this prank they played
Ended with no rapport.
They meant no hard, for it was true
This boy they did adore.
However, promise was kept still:
Their son hiccupped no more.

o o o o