The ammo she carried was many, plus more,
lay snug in her basket in spiraling rows.
So many, that with every clip she removed,
It looked as though two more took its place as she moved.
She shot at the slow, and those who could not run,
Even the healthy, the ones untouched.
She killed men and women, left and right,
Even the children that stood half her size.
She did not discriminate as she let them die,
For all were equal within her eyes.
She hopped and she skipped to those that ran,
Herding them, like lost little lambs.
As she gathered them up, with her murderous song,
She came upon one that did not belong.
She lay on the ground, unable to walk,
But it mattered not, for she did not belong.
One of many that lay in her path,
Crying in pain, as she picked up her back.
A girl it was, that lay on the ground,
Her arm bent strangely, facing down.
She hopped and skipped to where she lay,
Still killing those that continued her way.
She came up on the girl with her gun held out,
But the girl rai