The Children Who Lied to the Dawn

At the end of the day, at the dusk of dawn,

The children scuttle and shuck the indian corn.

They whittle their figures in chunks of wood

When the skies are high and the clouds descend

Into the ground where the bodies lie

And under the river near the chicken farm.


An age-old tale gripped the chicken farm,

A story woven by grandmothers into the dawn,

The dawn of the end where the answers lie.

The children are smirking and shucking their corn,

Unaware that their lives will soon descend

Into the dark and disfigured autumn wood.


At the edge of the dangerous, dazzling wood,

A river runs down to the chicken farm.

They say that here the souls will descend

Of all who dare to challenge the powerful dawn,

Who wander away instead of shucking their corn,

Who scoff at the truth and live in a lie.


Strange things happen to children who lie,

Who wander away to the edge of the wood,

And abandon their duty of shucking the corn

To follow the river to the chicken farm.

These children are seen by the angry dawn,

And the dawn leaves the sky and begins to descend.


And as the children watch the dawn descend,

They realize the danger of living a lie.

They realize the sin of ignoring the dawn,

And run far away to hide in the wood,

But the dawn takes their souls to the chicken farm,

And the children will never return to their corn.


And remaining unshucked is a tower of corn,

That teeters and totters and begins to descend

Onto the ground far away from the farm.

The tower has fallen, and the corn shall lie

Away from the souls near the edge of the wood,

The children who dared to disobey dawn.


The chicken farm stands far away from the corn,

And the dawn will return, and the night will descend,

Upon the children whose bodies now lie near the wood.


Stupid FictionPress didn't let me format it correctly.