This is a marvelously constructed poem. I enjoy it very much, you kept me
intrigued and questioning even after i have read it several times. Its a
mystery as to what really happened to  Maggie. You did a great job.

Joseph Richard Brown
jrichardpoet@mindspring.com

Stacey Elza wrote in message
...
Maggie Conner was a friend of mine.
Lived down the road in a little brick house
with shutters and a terrier.
Liked cookie-dough icecream
and running in the rain.
Always beat me at Monopoly.
She always did like the Railroads.
One day Maggie got real sad.
Somebody hit her, but she wouldn't say who.
Maybe we were all a little bit naive
to her "nothing's wrong"
and her "it's no problem."
Life as black as her bruises,
how can I condemn her?
They found her out on the railroad tracks
that evening,
bunch of yellow flowers
blooming destiny
in her lifeless hand.
Her Papa said it was an accident
with the 5:04 that did her in.
I doubt it.
Papa's just casting blame.
Maggie Conner was a friend of mine.
She always did like the railroads.