The darkness we felt cascaded around the facade he harbored in.
And to my recollection, none had seen him since before we were born.
No more than a phantom he was to us,
Existing, yet not, in our memory.
He travels through night when the moon is down low.
Freezing azaleas with his cold breath.
Oh Boo Radley,
Have you not gone mad, trapped in that lonely house of yours?
Oh Boo Radely,
It is not your fault that your mind is ingenious.
Oh Boo Radley,
Will you not come play with us?
-My Own Poem
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