On my way home I met a girl called Sinister.
Her eyes as sharp as dart, filled with unpleasant truths.
Pleased, she spoke as she cut deeply.
On my way home I met a young boy called Snow.
His eyes were as clear as a crystal diamond ,
gleaming like the star on a Christmas tree.
Shivering, he muttered words as the snow flakes were
On my way home I met a boy of Curiosity.
His eyes was filled unknown questions.
He wore the clothes of a spy,
His pockets were filled with concerns.
He delicately held a hobby of investigating the truths.