The Tragic Tale of Jennifer Quick

By Richard Lynch

o o o o

To draw you must be very slick;
One wrong line, it becomes a brick
Of no avail,
As is the tale
Of the young Ms Jennifer Quick

Young Jennifer, I’m sure you know,
Had a gift, which God did bestow.
For she could draw
Without a flaw,
A still life to a grand plateau.

But mother warned her active mind,
That if her passion should unwind,
Her art with rife
Would come to life,
And off the page would not be kind!

Ms Jennifer paid her no heed,
She drew as if it were a creed.
Though, once alone
There came a groan,
Her art had come to life, indeed!

Abstract faces, a melting clock,
Her friends and fam’ly drawn with chalk,
A famous house,
And a blind mouse,
Trapped in the room, they broke the lock.

Ms Jennifer took two steps back,
Worried her art would soon attack.
She let down guard,
They hit her hard,
With just one blow, her sight went black.

Jennifer Quick awoke in daze,
But could not move her head to gaze!
She could not squirm,
They’d tied her firm,
Assuring this the end of days.

The art took pencils from her drawer,
(I think they took no more than four),
Gave one to each,
For they would teach
This young girl which they did abhor.

The art approached with no allay,
Began erasing her away!
In two-fold time
Done was the crime,
The art returned on page to stay.

The room, now empty, silent, still,
Met with a stalking, minute chill.
There came no yawn
The brink of dawn,
No more would Ms Quick use her skill!

o o o o